Of Perfume, Liquor, and Baby Bottles
by Fluttering Phalanges
Summary: Effie was always one who kept on schedule. Even when a mishap occurred, she always had a back up plan. But, when an unplanned event pulls both Effie and Haymitch down an unexpected road of many twists and turns, there is no back up plan to pull them out. *Completed*
1. On the Boundaries of Properness

**I've had this idea for awhile and I really wanted to write it. Anyway, this takes place during Catching Fire and will go into Mockingjay. Enjoy.**

Chapter one: On the Boundaries of Properness

_A Quick Insight from Effie_:

Behavior. That's what defines each individual whether you are from the Capitol or from the very low class of District Twelve. My mother used to tell that to me as a child. It was always, "Effie, sit up straighter in your chair. Young ladies of Panem do not slouch." or "Effie, darling, do hurry up. You are expected to be at your studies in exactly one hour and you know how important promptness is." And I respected my mother for drilling such a topic as the importance of proper behavior into my young mind. It got me where I am today.

Of course, I expected the position I landed in would entitle me to deal with others who—unlike myself, had mothers who did not see one's behavior as the most important aspect of daily life. And I did prepare myself as best I could but of course, being that citizens of the Capitol were of no comparison to those in District Twelve, I found myself utterly disgusted by most mannerisms they—the tributes I escorted, exhibited. And then of course, there was Haymitch…

Haymitch, probably the rudest and most primitive—I refer to it as that because he might as well be living in a cave the way he keeps himself groomed, man I had ever met. I cannot count the number of times I nearly vomited at the sight and smell of him. It took all of my efforts and all of my training to keep myself sane when I first became acquainted with him. Though, as my mother would say, with a bit of coaxing and tough—well I'd rather not use the word "love" at the moment, anything was possible. So, whenever I found myself around him, I managed to press forth the idea of a shower once in awhile and a uniform change. It didn't always work but I made sure that at least when we were visible to the important head figures from the Capitol during the Hunger Games events, he was "acceptable" a term I use lightly when saying.

I could put up with Haymitch—for short periods of time of course because, after all, there is only so much peeving a person such as myself can take. So, our short visits with one another while the Hunger Games go on are enough to last me a good while…

But, unfortunately, I guess after being around someone enough, you grow a liking for them—much to my dismay. It wish I didn't. His manners, his attitude, he made me so angry, livid to put it better. But, there was something about him that—and my mother would turn in her grave if she knew, attracted me to him. And maybe that's why I showed up two months earlier than necessary to discuss the schedule for the Victory Tour with him. Maybe there was a deeper meaning to my visit rather than just my concerns of making sure everything was perfect. Little did I know, the outcome of that visit would dramatically change my life and his.

xXx

"Haymitch Abernathy!" I call, growing impatient as I knock yet again on the door of his home in the Victor's Village.

I knew he was awake, probably having a good laugh about me standing outside in the cold. That was Haymitch for you. Always finding some way—whether it be on purpose or just his usual self, to annoy me. The wind blows causing a shiver to spread through my body as I wrap on the door once more, cursing myself for not wearing my warm mink coat like Cinna had suggested when I had called to inform him and Portia that I would be paying a visit to District twelve. Then again, there was always the possibility something inside Haymitch's house would ruin it…

"Haymitch!" I snap, the cold causing my ability to mask any mood I'm usually with a smile to fade. "I know you can hear me! Open this door immediately! I—"The door opens and there before me looms a figure reeking of alcohol and sweat. Haymitch. "Well, it's about time!" I huff, straightening my hat as the wind has blown it crooked on my head.

Haymitch grunts and I push myself into his home before he has time to shut the door. The ungodly stench of alcohol reaches my nose as I make my way across the floor littered with empty liquor bottles and into what probably once was a very nice living room.

"You know," Haymitch reaches down and manages to find an unopened bottle amidst the rubble. "It's _improper_," he mimics my tone of voice as he opens his bottle, taking a rather large swig of the stuff before clearing his throat. "To come to a person's house unannounced to them."

"Well I tried calling." I say getting a bit defensive. "Several times actually but you never answered. I suppose the phone was off the hook or something…"

"Didn't feel like answering it." He takes another gulp and exhales. I frown deeply at his comment but decide not to press it further. After all, I would get no where with him on that. "So Princess," I stiffen at that name. I had told him on several occasions to refer to me as Effie but for some reason, he seemed to find that more fitting. "What has made you decide to come and annoy the hell out of me this time?" He lets out a sarcastic laugh before flopping down on what I now see is a filthy couch. "I thought I had at least another two months before having to endure another lecture about my _despicable_ _appearance_. Has my stench reached the Capitol or something?"

He's drunk but there's no surprise there. Taking a deep breath to maintain my composure, I manage to find a nearby chair that has not been too dirtied up and careful take my seat. I flip through the neatly written pages on my clipboard until I locate the section entitled 'Victory Tour'.

"Well," I exhale, forcing a smile onto my face. "I just thought I'd come early and discuss the details of the Victory Tour with you." He lets out another sarcastic laugh but I continue anyways. "Anyway, as you know, in three months the tour is to begin and—"

His hand extends forward before I can finish. "Princess, I've been on the tour before. I doubt much has changed and if it has, I really honestly don't give a damn." I inhale sharply as he finishes his bottle of liquor. How rude of him to interrupt me like that! I don't ever interrupt him…usually.

"Well, as this will be your first time touring as a mentor, I thought it best that we—" He tosses his bottle on the floor. I wince as it clinks with another, unsure of if it shattered. I'd be careful to watch where I was walking when I finally decided to leave. "Anyway, I just think it's very important that we make sure Katniss and Peeta's schedules are perfect and everything goes according to plan."

"If it's their schedules, then why are you discussing it with me and not them?" I blink a few times, trying my best to not lash out. After all, it was not at all proper to do such a thing.

"Well, as their mentor, I thought that maybe—"And again, I am interrupted.

"Look Princess, neither I, Katniss, or Peeta really care exactly what time we arrive at a destination or where to be at certain points, isn't it obvious that none of us are even wishing to go on this damn tour in the first place?"

I bit my lip. "Don't call me Princess and how do you know they aren't excited? You're drunk most of the time and are oblivious to half the things that are going on around you!" I slap a hand to my mouth once I realize my mistake. An outburst. Now I was becoming just as good as him.

Haymitch expression does not change as he reaches for another bottle. "You forget, Princess." His tone is serious. "I was them once and," He opens his bottle and before I have time to even blink he drains it dry. "And I realize more of what's going on than you think I do." He tosses it aside, an expression on his face that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand. "Much more."

We're silent for a few minutes. I have never really been at a loss for words before. I place my hands over one another as I do my best to keep from nervously picking at my nails. You would never have known it from looking at my well kept nails, but I was quite the nail bitter—visit the manicure place every Wednesday.

"I'm sorry." I finally manage to say. "I shouldn't have snapped." To my surprise, Haymitch actually lets out what I think is a genuine laugh.

"Made you seem human for a minute." And I'm not sure whether to take his words as a compliment or an insult. So, instead, I focus on the empty bottle in his hands.

"How can you stand the taste?" He lifts an eyebrow in response to my question. "It smells horrible. It can't possibly taste good." I thought about mentioning how it was rude that he hadn't offered me, his guest, anything to eat or drink, but I wasn't sure if what it had would be worth asking for.

"Burns like hell going down." He mumbled, tossing yet another bottle aside. "But that's what it's supposed to do. Far better than any drug your Capitol could make."

I look down at the floor for a moment, taking in for the first time how many empty bottles there are. Shaking my head, I left my eyes to meet his. "Well, I wouldn't have time for such a drink anyway. I have far more important things to focus on. You have no idea how much planning I've put into this," I shake the clipboard at him.

He rolls his eyes and I watch him lift two bottles from the floor. I can't hold back a small huff of disgust as I think of him drinking two more bottles of that horrid drink.

"Haven't you had enough?" I chide, thinking of the three bottles I saw him drink previously, not wanting to know how many he had drunk before my arrival." But, I'm a bit taken aback when he tosses one towards me.

"Also good for stress." He gives me a smug look before nodding at the bottle. "That one's on the house."

I'm shocked. Why did he just toss me a bottle? Had I somehow implied I wanted one? I tried to think back but nothing I had said made me think that I had given him the idea I wanted a taste but actually, implied the exact opposite. I stared down at the bottle in my hands as my mind flashed to my mother's lecture on manners. "Always accept a drink from your host, even if you don't like it." She had once said. But, did that even apply to Haymitch? I inhale sharply as I pop off the top, the smell fumes out causing me to feel a bit dizzy.

"Go on," He grunted, nodding towards my hands. "It ain't gonna kill you. At least," He laughs sarcastically, "Not yet anyways." And I wonder if he's referring to his own drinking.

Without thinking, I thrust the bottle into my mouth and take a rather large gulp. He's right about the burn. My eyes water in pain as it slides down my throat leaving a sizzling pain behind. But, it's quite odd, it, in a way, feels good. Very good. So much so that I find myself taking another sip and then another until reality grows hazy and I sink into a fantasy, a dream, that only a bright light and a searing headache pull me out from. And that's when I find myself in bed. Not my bed but a dirty, yellowed sheets, liquor reeking bed that takes me only a minute to put two and two together.

In my drunken stupor, I, Effie Trinket, had slept with none of than Haymitch Abernathy.

**Poor Effie, this trip didn't seem to go how she had planned. Anyway, to clarify a few things. No, Haymitch did not drug Effie or anything like that, she's just not one to hold her liquor. I hope I portrayed them alright. I'm doing my best to keep them in character as much as possible. ****Anyway, please review, author alert, favorite, all of that good jazz. It makes me feel motivated which makes chapters come sooner.-Jen**


	2. Dining and Dashing

**Thank you so much to all of those who reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story! It means so much and also motivates me to write another chapter! So, without further ado, here's chapter two.**

Chapter two: Dining and Dashing

I planned never to mention what happened between me and Haymitch that night several weeks back to anyone. I had enough stress on myself as it was and did not need rumors floating about that I was having relations with the drunken victor from District Twelve. Before I had left the morning after our...encounter...I made him swear not to tell anyone. I threatened that if he did, I would make sure that every drop of liquor was confiscated from his quarters. Of course, being Haymitch, he just laughed and muttered something offensive before heading back to his bottle. I wasn't sure what upset me more, the fact that he found my worries about people finding out we had sex humorous or that he merely shrugged off the fact that we had as if it were nothing.

Although, it was a bit relieving that I only seemed to be the one feeling awkward about it and not him. It would make things easier when I had to see him again within the next two weeks for the Victory Tour. It would be just as if nothing had ever happened. I would be myself making sure everything was in order and going as according to plan, Katniss and Peeta would be getting camera-ready with the help of their prep teams for the crowds of citizens who awaited their appearance, and Haymitch would be the drunken mentor who always seemed to find a way to to embarrass me. Things would be back to normal and soon, I would be forgetting that this had ever happened.

xXx

As the Victory Tour draws nearer, I find myself fretting more and more over the scheduling of it all. As embarrassing as it is to admit, my worrying has become so much that I find myself nauseous quite often. Luckily, I have had access to several varieties of pills that are for calming the nerves so that I appear calm and collected out in public. But, even medicine cannot make a mind that is so set on perfection relax.

To eliminate some stress, I invite Cinna and Portia out to lunch to discuss their final plans of what outfits the victors shall be wearing. Unlike Haymitch, these two are far more polite and seem more keen on going over the scheduled events with me. Because of this, I decide that this occasion calls for more of formal attire than what I wore to when I visited Haymitch-meaning, I decide to wear the mink coat I forgot to take with me to Haymitch's along with a violet wig to match my newly manicured nails.

"You look ravishing today, Effie. And might I add what a lovely new wig that is. The violet very much compliments your eyes." Cinna smiles as he lifts his glass of water to his lips taking a sip. I smile appreciatively at him comment because-unlike Haymitch, when he gives compliments, they are genuine.

"Well that's very kind of you to say." I reply, my hands absentmindly adjusting the faux-curls on my head. "I saw it in the salon and I couldn't resist."

Portia nods in agreement, her eyes fixed on my wig. "I do believe I saw that same one." She smiles as her eyes meet mine. "I was in search of some inspiration when I came across it in a store window. I was drawn to the color immediately. I was just telling Cinna before you arrived that I think a silk dress, along with some pearls, of that color would be a wonderful outfit for Katniss to wear at District Nine."

A smile grows on Cinna's face as he now eyes my wig with even more interest. "Now that I have the color in front of me, I do see what you mean, Portia." He takes a pen and scribes something down quickly in a notebook he has before him. "I'll make a few calls tonight to see if we can have the fabric made." He sets down his pen and looks at me once more. "Thank you for the inspiration, Effie. Or rather, your wig's coloring inspiration."

I chuckle politely at his semi joke. "Well, it's a very fine color to say the least." I lift up my glass of water and take a sip ignoring the fact that my stomach has begun to churn. I should've brought those pills with me.

"Oh, how rude of me." Portia says as I set down my glass. "I forgot to ask how your visit with Haymitch went." I feel my stomach twist into a knot as she mentions my journey to see Haymitch. Quickly, I mask my surprise with a slight smile as she continues. "Cinna and I have been so busy preparing, that we forgot to call and see how things went."

"Haymitch was his usual self." Portia and Cinna chuckle softly at my comment. "I didn't really get anywhere with him. As you know, this sort of activity is not his cup of tea." I look down into my lap for a split second and notice that I have twisted my napkin into a misshapen form. Taking a deep breath, I remove my hands from my lap and lift my eyes to the faces of Cinna and Portia. "So, it was a lost cause to begin with. Unfortunately, I didn't run into Katniss or Peeta. I meant to visit them too but something occurred and I had to leave earlier than expected." I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as I lie.

"That's too bad." Cinna replies with much sympathy in his voice. "I do owe Katniss a call. If there's anything you'd like me to convey to her, I'd be more than happy to."I appreciate his words and as I'm about to reply, the waiter appears with bowls of steaming hot pheasant soup laden with a sort of shaved green vegetable as decoration. My stomach twists at the smell and it takes all that I have to keep from gagging.

"Mm, smells delightful." Portia smiles as she adjusts the placement setting of her utensils as the waiter sets down her bowl. "Thank you."

Cinna removes his notebook from the table and graciously accepts a bowl of soup. I try to hide my discomfort as a bowl is set in front of me. Usually, I love soup-tomato being my favorite flavor, but at the moment, the mere smell of it makes my stomach flip inside out.

"Effie," Cinna's voice breaks my thought process. I look to see both him and Portia eyeing me with a look of concern. "Are you alright? You've gone pale."

"Oh, well, I..." I let out a nervous chuckle, racking my brain as I try to think of an excuse. I did not plan on sharing the information that I was feeling ill to my stomach while we sat around the lunch table. "It must be the lighting. They just dimmed it. I'm trying out this new foundation and it seems not to be that flattering in this light." I suddenly feel very warm as I try to nonchalantly fan myself with my hand.

"Are you sure you're alright, Effie?" Portia asks with much worry laced into each word. "At least let me call the waiter to bring you another glass of ice water."

I nodded gratefully at her comment. "Yes, yes, thank you. I do believe ice water will help me." I'm blushing with embarrassment now. How silly I must look.

Portia motions for the waiter to come over and in a matter of seconds, a fresh glass of ice water is placed before me. I lift the glass to my lips and drink it slowly, feeling slightly better as the cool water runs down my throat.

"I feel much better now." I assure them. "I guess it must be the heat or something. I will make sure of putting a complaint in when I see the manager." This makes them both smile but I believe it's because they are relieved.

"So," Cinna begins after finishing his first spoonful of soup. "I assume we need to be focusing much on what Katniss and Peeta will be wearing at the Capitol. I expect there will be many wardrobe changes they both will be making while there."

I force down a spoonful of soup as I listen to him intently. "There are many banquets that I have set up for them to attend to, the biggest being at President Snow's residences." My stomach gurgles unpleasantly and I blush with embarrassment at the thought that Cinna and Portia might have heard it. When no sign of that they had appears on their faces, I continue. "So, for the Capitol, at least six different outfits for each victor. I don't think it would look that good if they wore the same thing twice." They both nod in agreement.

"I have plenty of designs set for Katniss and I know Portia has the same for Peeta." Portia nods at Cinna's comment and gives him a smile. "So, we should be alright." He smiles warmly at me before looking over at Portia.

"Cinna and I are set." Portia grins, "For anything that comes are way. We have an outfit for any occasion."

My stomach churns even more when Cinna lifts his glass up in the air. "I propose a toast." He smiles, looking from Portia to me. "For the Victory Tours. May everything go perfectly as planned."

Portia lifts her glass towards Cinna's and I do the same. I open my mouth to reply as our glasses clink, but to my horror, at that exact moment, I lose control of my stomach. Glass shatters, water spills, my vomit splatters onto the sleeve of my mink coat, mixing with my soup to form an unappetizing color, and the horrified faces of those around me.

Mortified. That's putting it lightly how I feel at this exact moment.

**Oh Effie, how I pity you so. The odds are just not in your favor it seems. Anyway, I promise the chapters will get longer soon and next chapter will be very interesting because our dear Effie learns that not only stress causes upset stomachs. Please review/alert/favorite. It's like steroids for writers, makes us work faster.-Jen**


	3. A Word of Many Meanings

**Thank you everyone who reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story! I was thrilled to wake up and come onto fanfiction to find out the mass of reviews I had received. Those reviews truly made today great so thanks once more. Anyway, here's chapter three.**

Chapter three: A Word of Many Meanings

Humiliated. Mortified. Disgusted. So many words I could use to describe how I feel at this exact moment as I stare in horror down at the mess I have created. Oh how I wish I could just disappear. What else could one do when faced with a situation as horrifying as this?

"Come on, Effie." I feel someone give my shoulder a gentle squeeze. Turning my head slightly, I see Portia standing over me, her jacket stretched out in her hands. "Let's get you cleaned up."

To my surprise, she pulls her jacket around me, hiding the splatters of vomit on my outfit, before helping me up. I open my to thank her but all that escapes is a sob. Portia seems to understand my growing embarrassment as our pace quickens only to slow once we have reached the bathroom.

"Cinna will straighten things out in the dining area." Her words are meant to sooth me as she opens the door, leading me inside before locking it. "Now, let's see what I can fix up on your outfit."

I don't argue as she slips the jacket off and eyes the drying putrid smelling spots that now cover me. A small smile that seems to hold much sympathy appears on her lips as she quickly wets a few paper towels and dabs at stain delicately.

"It's really not that bad." She tosses the now dirtied towels into the trash. "Nothing a good washing can't fix. Once I spilled red ink all over my white cardigan that I was planning to wear to a dear friend's birthday party later on that night." I swallow hard trying to keep the tears that are spilling in as she grabs more moistened towels. "Oh it was awful and there was really no way to hide it. But, I had once read somewhere that hairspray worked wonders when trying to get ink stains out of clothing. So, I thought about giving it a try because really, how much more damage could I cause to it? Well, to my surprise, it actually worked. No stains and my outfit was ready to wear to the party." She chuckles softly as she steps back looking me up and down. "There, that looks much better."

I force a smile as I glance down. Now my dress looks as if it has dark polka dots covering certain places around my midsection. Quickly, I place my hand over my mouth to stifle back a sob. Why on earth was I so emotional all of a sudden? Granted, I did just embarrass myself in front of two of my colleagues, but that was no excuse for all of these tears.

"I'm…I'm terribly sorry, Portia. I do not know what has come over me. I ruined Cinna's and your lunch and now I can't stop weeping." I take a few shaky breaths in an attempt to get a hold of my self. "I promise, I will pay for the entire lunch and any dry cleaning your's and Cinna's clothes might need."

Portia merely shakes her head before giving my shoulder another squeeze. "Oh Effie, these things happen. Don't beat yourself up about it." I take a tissue she hands me and blow my nose. "And as for lunch and the clothes, don't you worry about a thing. I was planning to get rid of this old jacket anyways."

"That's very kind of you." I reply, dabbing at my eyes with another tissue she hands me. "But I must insist. It'll make me feel better if you both allow me to pay, at least for the lunch." Portia nods as I toss my soiled tissues into the trash can. "Honestly, I don't know what is going on with me lately. Perhaps I need to up my dosage of anxiety pills."

I watch as Portia's brow furrows with concern. "Maybe you should see a doctor, Effie. How long has this been going on?"

"Well for about a week or so now." I tell her honestly as I make my way over to the mirror to adjust my wig. "It's probably because of the approaching Victory Tour. It's my first one and I have to make sure everything is perfect. A lot of stress is put on the escorts as you know." She nods comprehensively but by her expression, she seems to be deep in thought.

"You shouldn't put so much stress on yourself, Effie." I frown a little at her response. "It's not good for you and clearly, you already have everything planned out. So, what is there to still worry about?"

"There are plenty of things that still need to be done." I say pushing a stray strand of my blond hair back up underneath my wig. "And I will not be fully relaxed about this until the Victory Tour has passed."

"Well, at least let me hook you up with a friend of mine." Portia says as she folds her jacket neatly in half. "His name is Montgomery Pritchitt. He's a doctor and maybe he could just give you a quick look over and prescribe something. You don't want to make yourself sick over all of this stress." She was right. I wouldn't want that at all.

"I would very much appreciate something that would settle my stomach." I admit, "The medication I've been taking hasn't done much I must say." I examine my makeup in the mirror making sure my incident in the dining room didn't cause any smudges. "And I'd rather not have another spell while on the Victory Tour. I've had enough mortification to last a lifetime."

"No, we wouldn't want that." Portia agrees, "I'm sure he'd be happy to see you at anytime. He's a dear friend and when it comes to something involving me or a friend, he's schedule can become quite flexible."

I smile at her words. A friend. She considers me a friend. That was nice to know. I really-and I'm embarrassed to admit, that the smallest part of me worried that she'd go about spreading the news that I had lost control of my stomach in a very popular restaurant. It was such a silly thing to possible dwell upon. After all, even if we weren't friends, Portia and Cinna both definitely had enough class not to do such a monstrous thing.

"Shall I call and make you an appointment?" Portia's voice causes me to break my trail of thoughts. "I wouldn't be surprised if he could see you today even. That is, if you'd like of course."

"Well I do have a bit of free time in my schedule." I say thinking back to what events I have planned for today. "It'll be nice having something to fill that empty time gap up with."

Portia seems pleased by my willingness to see her friend. "Well, I'll go make the arrangements then." She smiles at me before taking my hand in her's. "Now I'll have one less thing to worry about." I wonder what she means by that as gives my hand a pat before releasing it. "Shall we go check up on Cinna? I don't want him to think we left." She laughs and I realize she meant the last bit as a joke. So, to be polite, I laugh softly and nod.

"Yes, it's about time we go back. I'd rather not keep either of you from any activities you have today. You've already done so much for me as it is and the least I can do is not make you late." This makes Portia laugh.

"Oh Effie, you needn't apologize. Like I said, you're a friend. We'd feel terrible if we didn't help you out." Her hand grasps the door knob and turns it with a slight flick of her wrist, pushing it open effortlessly.

"I cannot thank you enough." I say, "For everything. I promise, I'll find a way to repay you both. Of course, by starting off with your dry cleaning bill."

Portia merely laughs and shakes her head. I swear she said something along the lines of 'Oh Effie' but it was too soft for me to hear. Sometimes stylists can be so confusing. All I want to do is repay them and they don't seem to want it. I guess I'll never fully understand their thought process.

Taking a deep breath, I follow after Portia, not wanting to be slow and hold them up even more than I already had.

xXx

As Portia had promised, I find myself later on that day in a rather tropical fish filled patient room in a small doctor's office not too far from my apartment. It had surprised me when I realized what Portia had said about this man's flexible schedules was true. Never had I ever had room in my schedules to flex things, my itineraries kept to a strict timing process, one of which I very disliked to break.

There's a knock on the door that causes me to jump slightly. Carefully, I wrap the thin gown I was made to wear for this appointment around me tighter, feeling rather exposed when wearing this material. I never did like the outfits patients were made to wear at hospitals and doctors' offices. Perhaps when I have time, I'll discuss more appealing wear options with those who are in charge of this sort of thing.

"Come in." I call, my voice sounding somewhat meek.

The door opens and in walks a man around forty years of age, his hair-obviously starting to thin, dyed a light blue and combed off to the side. He gives me a smile as he shuts the door, clipboard with my chart attached in his hands.

"Ah," He nods, peering down at his clipboard for a split second. "You must be Ms. Effie Trinket." He extends his hand and I take it. "Portia has told me much about you. All good things of course." We shake for a few seconds before he let's go of my hand. "I'm Dr. Pritchitt as I'm sure you know already. Now," I watch as he scans my chart once more before looking at me. "Portia mentioned you were having a problem with nerves?"

"Well, a slight problem." I reply with a small smile. "All I really need is a prescription for something to make my stomach not become so nauseous. As I'm sure you know already, I have a very important Victory Tour coming up and I must be in the best condition for it."

"Ah yes the famous Victory Tour." He smiles, setting down my chart to the side. "Well, of course I can prescribe you something but first I'll need to run a few blood tests. You know, just to make sure nothing else is going on and to figure out how much exactly of a certain prescription I can give you." He pauses, "Are you alright with needles?"

I give a firm nod. "Of course, they don't bother me at all. Go right on ahead with a blood test."

He nods his head and smiles, lifting my chart up. "I'll have a nurse here within the next few minutes to take your blood. The results shouldn't take but ten minutes to get after that." His hand rests on the door knob. "Please, feel free to look through the magazines." He nods towards a small table beside my bed and I look to see a neat stack of about ten magazines. "Shouldn't be long." He smiles before exiting.

Eyeing the magazines, I pick one up that has a young woman with long curly magenta hair holding a tiny newborn in her arms. A maternity magazine. I flip through the rest only to find that this mix contains only maternity and elderly care magazine, of which neither subject interests me since I'm neither old nor pregnant. Luckily, I don't have time to become bored because a nurse soon enters my room.

"Arm please." I hold out my arm as she dabs it delicately with a thin alcohol wipe. "Now, this'll only take a minute. Please do you best not to tense up or move, it'll make getting the blood easier.'' Her words almost remind me of what they say to the tributes when the trackers are injected into their arms-of course, with the exception of blood drawing.

There's a light pinch and in a matter of a minute, a small vile no bigger than my thumb is filled with a deep crimson liquid. The nurse undoes the band around my arm and quickly bandages the spot where she stuck me with a needle. "Dr. Pritchitt will be here in a few minutes with the results." Before I can reply, she has gathered all of her things and quickly exits from the room.

My eyes fall onto the maternity magazine with the purple haired woman. A mixture of boredom and curiosity overtake me as I pick it up and begin to flip through. I never truly understood the beauty behind pregnancy. Women's bodies swell into unnatural bulges and undesirable stretchmarks and unseen veins seem to pop out every which way. Not to mention of course, the horrors of actually delivering a child and then having to adjust and readjust your schedule around it. I myself had never seen myself as a mothering type. No, I preferred to have my own self to take care of and a schedule that didn't need to be changed every other minute. But I didn't need to worry about such a dramatic change like a baby. I, of course, was not mother nor was I expecting any time soon, or even ever planned to be.

There's a knock at the door once more and I straighten up, tossing the magazine neatly back into place just as Dr. Pritchitt enters. I note the strange expression on his face as if he's concerned about something. My heart rate increases a little as he steps towards me, his eyes focusing on my chart as if trying to make out some unknown code.

"Is everything alright?" My voice is unnaturally cheerful as I try not to think badly of what might my blood tests say.

"Ms. Trinket..." he pauses as if at a loss for words. "I don't mean to pry but...by any chance, are you sexually active?"

I gasp very taken aback by his question. Sexually active? Why on earth would he need to know that?

"Of course not!" I snap accidently. "Why would you ask such a thing?" I didn't feel inclined to mention what happened between Haymitch and I.

"Well, maybe there's a mistake then." He looks a little relieved. "The results must've been false because," He laughs, "By the level of your hormones, it suggests you're pregnant."

Pregnant. My heart stops for a second as I try to count back how many weeks ago I had had sex with Haymitch. Was it possible? I didn't remember much from that night nor did I ever really try to. Pregnant... Me, Effie Trinket...pregnant?

"Ms. Trinket? Is everything alright?" Dr. Pritchitt's voice sounds so distant now and I'm too far gone to even attempt to collect myself. "Ms. Trinket?"

"It...it was just one night. It was nothing!" The words escape shrilly from my throat. "An accident! I-I never should have accepted that liquor. I never should have gone in the first place! This wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Ms. Trinket?"

I try to focus on the doctor of which there are now two of as my heart races even faster. The room begins to become blurry as I feel myself slipping beyond the grasps of reality and into the blackness of unconsciousness. The last thing my eyes catch is the outline of the purple haired woman on the magazine, baby in her arms, looking sickeningly happy as if mocking me and my misfortune.

**I've written and rewritten this chapter several times trying to prefect it. Sorry for any misspellings and what not, I'm currently sick with a bad cold so I'm a bit out of it at the moment. But, I really wanted to write a chapter so I did. As promised, I made it lengthier. Don't worry, Haymitch will be popping up very soon and things will tart getting interesting. Anyway, please review, it's like medicine to me and helps my brain to function when writing a new chapter. Happy Easter everyone (even though it isn't until tomorrow).-Jen**


	4. What is Hidden Must be Revealed

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story! It does an author's heart good to see so much rewarding feedback as this! Oh, I made/edited two different pictures (well, more of story covers) for this story. The links are on my profile page at the bottom if you'd like to take a peek at them. Granted, picture editing is not one of my greatest talents but I kinda liked how both of the pictures turned out. Anywho, just wanted to let you all know about the pictures, here's chapter four!**

Chapter four: What is Hidden Must be Revealed

"You know, Ms. Trinket, there are several options you can choose from."

A warm hand rests on my shoulder but I do not look up, instead, I twiddle my thumbs not wishing to discuss this subject any further. Unfortunately, it didn't seem to really be in my power at the moment to decide what was said and what wasn't. So, I try to block out Dr. Pritchitt's words. As rude as it was, for the first time in my entire life, I didn't feel like being polite or carrying up a conversation. I didn't even have the strength to force a smile.

The pressure of his hand leaves my shoulder and curiosity over takes me as I look up to see what he's doing. My eyes follow him as he walks over to a cabinet and begins to pull out packets and pamphlets of various shapes and forms before walking back over to me and holding them out. I hesitate for a moment before taking them. There had to be at least a good dozen and as I begin to flip through my eyes fall across titles such as 'From One Citizen to Another-A Capitolian's Guide to Adoption' or 'What is Termination of Pregnancy?'.

"Just take a peek through these when you get the chance. You don't have to decide anything right away but it's comforting to some people to know that there are different approaches to situations such as these." I say nothing, only keep my eyes glued to the stack of documents on my lap. "I assume you know the baby's father?"

Assume I know who know impregnated me? What kind of question is that? Of course I know who the father of my child is! It's appalling and offensive that he would ask such a thing as if I just went about sleeping with random men. The nerve of some people!

"Of course I know!" I unintentionally snap. "Do I seem like the type of woman who would go about having relations with strangers, Dr. Pritchitt?" I'll have you know, sir, that I placed second out of two hundred young women for having the highest class standards and impeccable manners at Madame Vilbia's Academy of Civility! And I'm sure you know that her school is quite hard to get into in the first place!"

"Well, yes, yes, of course you know who it is." He seems to be a little flustered now. "I apologize, forgive me. I only meant it as an innocent question. I wasn't trying to accuse you of anything." I watch as he absentmindedly adjusts his stethoscope.

"I apologize for my outburst." I say glancing at the clock on the back wall. It's almost six meaning that I have spent far much more time here than I thought I would. Thankfully, this was only cutting into my scheduled suppertime and nothing of too much importance. "I've known the...the father of my child for quite awhile now. Our relationship is..." I try to think of a good word to use. "Complicated." There was no other way I could describe our relationship if that's really what you want to refer to it as nor did I really want to go into detail about it with this man I just met.

"I see..." He pulls a small notepad from his pocket and scribes something down. "Now, I this may not help your nausea but I highly recommend you start taking these." He rips off the piece of paper he wrote on and hands it to me. I examine it and see it's a name for some sort of pill, something that I haven't ever heard of. "They're prenatal vitamins." He says as if reading my mind. "They're over-the-counter so you don't need a prescription note for me to purchase them."

I give a nod and push it deep down, along with the other papers, inside my purse without a second glance. "Thank you." My voice is surprisingly quiet. "Well, it seems I have over stayed my visit..." I glance at the clock once more before looking at Dr. Pritchitt. It takes everything I have to force a smile on my face as I extend my hand. "I appreciate this visit, Dr. Pritchitt, but I must be off. I have a strict schedule to stay on as you know."

"Take it easy, Ms. Trinket." He shakes my hand. "If there's anything you need, do not hesitate to give me a call. We're usually open longer than most offices in this sector of the Capitol."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind." I say reaching for the neatly folded pile of my everyday clothes. "Have a fine evening, Dr. Pritchitt."

He's at the door now, his hand resting on the knob. "You do the same, Ms. Trinket. I do hope the Victory Tour goes well. Congratulate those victors for me." And he leaves without a second word.

I feel the corners of my mouth relax as I slump forward, my head cradled in my hands. My life. My job. My reputation. They slip from my grasp and into the unknown. Everything was going to change and no plan, no schedule, could stop it. It's all out of my power now. And I blame him. Haymitch Abernathy. If he had never given me that horrid drink, I would not be in this situation. This was all his fault and I plan to make sure he knew that too.

xXx

Four in the morning. That's what time I find myself waking up the day of the Victory Tour. And even though most are still fast asleep, tucked underneath their cozy comforters-or most likely in Haymitch's case, a mountain of empty liquor bottles, I have to be up and prepping for what events will be occurring today. So, to keep on a strict schedule, I have allowed myself only thirty minutes to get ready.

"Yes, yes, be at the station in exactly one hour." I scoop up my makeup bag from it's spot on the counter while pressing the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I go over the meeting time with one of the several camera crews once more. "And I expect you will not be late? We cannot afford to waste anytime. Today, after all, is a big, big, day!"

I catch my reflection in a mirror as I place the phone back into it's holster. I stop for just a moment and examine myself, my hands falling on the spot they always seem to be when I'm alone. My stomach, once perfectly flat, now curves forward just the slightest to form the unmistakable bulge that all expecting women get. It's not too big, at least, I tell myself that. Nothing that a good outfit of mine can't hide. So, I do my best to conceal it underneath the puffs and waves of my dress, throwing a jacket over myself for good measure.

"There." I breath, looking at myself in the mirror once more. "Perfect."

I adjust my brightly colored orange wig I purchased just for this occasion before gathering up my bags and purse. My car would be waiting for me outside the door and in a matter of minutes, I'd be at the station ready to head of to District Twelve. Although I had been anticipating this tour, I can't say that my excitement to see a certain someone was through the roof. "Just grin and bare it." My mother used to say to me. And I would, I'd pull off my usual self like I normally did and no one would suspect a thing. Though, the cold morning air that hit me when I opened the front door made my high hopes slink away quickly.

"To the station!" I tell the driver, my voice thick with a false alertness and confidence as I place my bags onto the floor beside me. "Lovely morning for the Victory Tour isn't it?"

He yawns in response before starting off down the dark road. I, of course, do not have time to be tired, but instead go over my schedule once more.

"Do you mind if I turn on a light? I'd like to spend this time going over my plans once more." Through the glow of the car light's I can see him shake his head. I smile thankfully and flip on the overhead and rummage through my purse in search of my clipboard. "Oh now where is it." I mumble quietly, pulling things out an placing them on the seat beside me. I didn't remember having all of this stuff in my bag. Perhaps I would have time on the train to do some organization. Finally, I find something that feels schedule-like and I immediately pull it out.

"So You're Going to be a Mother", the bold writing across the cover almost makes me yelp in surprise. I thought I had taken all of these silly pamphlets out awhile ago. Suddenly losing the will to go over my schedule, I shove everything back into my bag and flip of the light. The recent few weeks after I discovered my pregnancy, I had become, as one might put it, a tad paranoid. I always fretted over if someone would discover that I had conceived out of wedlock-with none other than Haymitch Abernathy, and start the spread of many horrible, most likely career-ruining rumors about me. I hadn't even told dear Portia and Cinna that I was expecting. No, only me, myself, and I-and Dr. Pritchitt, knew about this baby. But of course, that was all going to change on this trip.

"Here we are, the station." The driver pulls up to the curb and through the fog that is beginning to form, I can see the train lights glowing faintly. "Need help with your bags?"

I merely shake my head and get out of the car. "I think I can manage, thank you." I take a wad of cash from my wallet and hand it to him. "For your troubles." He mumbles some sort of thanks but I'm already off towards the train.

xXx

_I'm on the television, or rather, I'm being filmed. The stage is lit up with various lights and in the middle sit two large chairs, one occupying me and the other the famous Caesar Flickerman, interviewer of the tributes of each Hunger Games. I barely have time to figure out how I got here when Caesar's laugh fills my ears._

_"So, Ms. Trinket," Caesar grins over at me, his hair shimmering an odd silvery blue in the stage light. "Tell us, are the rumors true? Are you and Haymitch Abernathy, the District Twelve mentor who won the Second Quarter Quell having a child?"_

_"Well, I...How did you?" My face is growing red with heat as thousands of pairs of eyes watch me expectantly._

_He laughs and the audience with him. "Why, everyone knows. It's quite hard to miss the unmistakable belly you have." And for the first time, my eyes land on my stomach. To my horror, it has tripled in size and there is no puffy dress nor jacket around to conceal it._

_"I did not agree to this interview!" My voice is now so shrill it could probably break glass if I try to go any higher. "I would like off this stage now please."_

_"Unfortunately, that decision isn't your's to make." His shakes his head, an odd almost sinister grin on his face. "Isn't that right audience?"_

_The crowd erupts into a sort of satanic chant of which I cannot make out words from. My hands tremble as I try to cower back into the chair but whenever I do, I just seem to be pushed closer to the audience._

_"No, please, I beg you to let me go!" I cling to the back of the chair, trying to pull my feet up as people reach towards them, fingers smacking palms as they make grabs for them._

_"Effie! Effie! Effie!'' The chants grow clearer and louder. "Effie! Effie! Effie!"_

_I'm being pulled now into a dark pit, hands groping me, tearing at me, while Caesar laughs on encouragingly._

_"Stop!" I shriek, "I'm begging you to stop! Stop!"_

"Effie!" Someone's shaking me and I try to push them back. "Effie! Wake up! It's alright! You're just having a nightmare! You're safe!"

I recognized the voice at once. "Cinna?" I open my eyes slowly to see Cinna and Portia looming over me, their expressions suggest they are worried. "What are you both..." And then I remember where I am. "I fell asleep?" I look out the window frantically and see not the outline of the Capitol but rather the small homes of those in District Twelve.

"When the train arrived and you didn't get off, we grew worried and came searching for you." Portia says gently.

"I cannot believe I feel asleep." I shake my head in disbelief. "I was planning to bit of last minute prepping but instead my body decided to take a nap. How off schedule did I put us? Where are the victors? Are they ready? Is-" Cinna's hand rests on my shoulder.

"Everything's alright, Effie." He gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "And we're right on schedule. The train arrived ten minutes earlier than expected. Your nap merely made it so that everything is back on track."

I still can't believe that I managed to fall asleep. I guess I hadn't realized how tired I was until I sat down on the train. Inhaling, I grab my purse and stand up, Cinna's hand sliding off of my shoulder.

"Well then," I say, my voice returning to it's usual octave. "We have a schedule to maintain. I suggest we go and retrieve Katniss and Peeta from their homes and get them ready to board the train."

"And Haymitch." The mention of his name from Cinna's mouth causes me to stiffen slightly.

"Oh yes," I mutter as I walk towards the entrance of the train. "Can't forget about Haymitch can we?" I force a smile on my face as I begin to step off when Portia's hand on my shoulder stops me.

"Effie?" I turn my head slightly to see her eyeing me curiously. "Is everything alright?"

I readily nod, "Of course," I make my smile even bigger, "After all, today is the beginning of the Victory Tour, District Twelve's first in years. Why wouldn't everything be alright?"

I could easily make a list of reasons why it wasn't alright but instead, I step off the train and, inhaling deeply, trudge through the snow towards the Victor's Village.

xXx

The next few hours pass in a sort of blur with several pictures and videos taken of Katniss and Peeta from their departure from the Victor's Village and to the train with me in their footsteps answering several questions asked by the reporters. And, even though this is a huge moment in my career, I cannot help but focus on the man standing off to the side slouching against the train as the faint odor of liquor fills my nose.

"Alright now, up you both go." I say ushering Peeta and Katniss onto the train. "We have a tight schedule, no room for breaking." Haymitch lags behind and it takes everything I have not to go behind him and beat him with my purse. I had so much pent up anger towards him at the moment. But, do to the current audience and circumstances, I merely smile and add politely, "Oh do hurry, Haymitch, we haven't the time for slowness today."

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Princess. I'll get there when I get there." The corners of my mouth twitch threatening to turn into a frown but I just suck in a breath and wait patiently for him to get onto the train.

Thankfully, Haymitch's sluggishness didn't cause us to go off schedule and by four in the evening, we're on our way towards District Eleven with a lovely dinner sitting before us.

"Well," I smile at everyone as they gather around the table. "I'd like to say that everyone did an excellent job with getting onto the train." No one smiles back at my statement. "So thank you, everyone. I do believe this will be the best Victory Tour District Twelve has ever seen."

Haymitch lets out a sarcastic laugh making my blood boil with rage. "Probably will be the last tour District Twelve sees." He slams down his bottle causing alcohol to slosh about.

"Thinking pessimistically will get us nowhere." I say trying to keep a cheerful attitude. "I'm sure after a win like this one," I look from Peeta to Katniss with a smile, "Other tributes will find the inspiration to win. You two," I nod towards them, "Should be very proud.

"What's there to be proud of, Princess?" Haymitch picks up a leg of chicken and bites into it. "Killing innocent children is a good thing?"

"Ignore him." I tell them, "You two have far more important things to think about such as speeches."

"Speeches." Haymitch scoffs, "You think that people really give a damn about those, Princess? And-" He holds up his hand before I can interject, "Don't try to tell me that people in the Capitol do. Everything you tell them goes in one ear and out the other." He slams his now empty bottle down. "I'll be _retiring _to my room."

I watch furiously as he gets up without properly excusing himself and makes his way down the hallway. I turn to Katniss, Peeta, and the stylists trying to keep a calm face as I stand up.

"Excuse me," I say as I place my napkin on my plate. "I apologize about all of this."

And on that note, I quickly exit the dining car and hurry after Haymitch. Luckily for me, he hasn't gone but a car down from where he was previously. I'm beside him in a matter of seconds.

"How dare you!" I snap, "You think you can just go about pushing me down like that? Pushing them down? How dare you!"

Haymitch lifts a brow in surprise, "Since when do you get so uptight, Princess?" He laughs, the smell of liquor fuming off of him.

It takes everything I have not to slap him. "I'll have you know I worked extremely hard to make all of this possible! The least you could do was have the decency to give me some respect! I deserve that much after all I've been through!"

This makes him laugh even harder. "Been through? What the hell have you possibly been through, Princess? Your life has got to be probably the most god damn perfect thing one could think of! Spare me with your pity party."

"You have no idea what I've been dealing with, Haymitch!" I'm trembling now. "And you have no right, no right, to just stand there and mock me! You owe me an apology!"

"I don't owe you squat, Princess." His face is inches from mine. "Now, I'd appreciate it if you'd allow me to go to my room. Your voice is giving me a headache." He turns and begins to walk towards his room.

Before I can stop myself, I spat out, "You should know that this is no way to treat a lady whose expecting!"

He turns in surprise and takes one look at me before bursting into a fit of laughs. "You? Expecting? God help us all..." He shakes his head still chuckling, "When the time comes, I'll make sure to buy the father cigars or whatever you Capitolians give eachother when babies are born." His voice is thick with sarcasm making me want to scream. But instead, something else escapes from my lips. Two simple words that make him stop in his tracks.

"It's your's."

**Ooh cliffhanger! How will Haymitch takes this little bundle (pun intended) of news? I was thrilled by the number of reviews I received for last chapter so I wrote an extra long chapter for you guys because you all deserved it! I'd love to get to hundred reviews by the next few chapters so it would mean so much to me if you all would help me in reaching my goal. Every review helps and it only takes a little bit of your time. Anyway, enough of my review talk, hope you enjoyed this chapter! I have so much more excitement planned and I cannot wait to write it and see what you guys think.-Jen**


	5. At the Bottom of a Bottle

**You guys, you're amazing you know that? I cannot thank you enough for all of the lovely reviews I received. I wake up this morning to find over thirty reviews and I literally jumped for joy around the kitchen. So, thank you a billion times over! Anywho, here's chapter five, the one many of you have been waiting for! (Oh, please read the author's note at the end of this chapter. I explain a few things that occur in here just so everyone understands.)**

Chapter five: At the Bottom of a Bottle

Every second ticks away so slowly I'm convinced time itself has stopped. I feel his eyes searching me over, taking in every inch as if he's trying to make sense of things. Perhaps I shouldn't have done this when he was already so intoxicated. But then again, there was never really a moment when he wasn't and if I hadn't had done it when I did, maybe I never would have later. So here we now both stand in the hallway of a train car no less where I find myself starting to grow impatient with his lack of a response.

"Well? Say something!"

"What's there to say, Princess?" He sounds tired but the moment he lifts the bottle of wine towards his lips any concern I had towards him dies.

"Oh for god sakes, can you put that bottle down for one minute?" My practically yelling now and the fact that no one has come to see what the commotion is about surprises me. "Normal, civilized men usually have the decency to..." He has drained the bottle dry and now tips it upside down looking for any missed droplets. "Are you even listening to me?"

"Loud and clear, Princess. And there's not enough liquor in all of Panem that'll get me drunk enough not to. But..." I watch as he turns his head and glances behind his shoulder, "I'm sure the bar car has more than enough for me to try to."

"Oh you horrible, despicable, rude, poor excuse of a man!" Now I'm slipping to his level but I really don't care. How dare he just stand there and insult me right after I tell him I'm expecting his child? No way to treat the mother of your child. No way to treat a woman. No way to treat anyone for that matter.

"That's right, Princess, let the whole world know what they already did." The threat of tears seems close now as I stride forward and slap him, the sound cutting through whatever still air was left. He doesn't even flinch. "Are you done?"

I shake my head in disbelief. "I hope you drown in your own vomit."

"I'll do my best, Princess."

I push past him and hurry down the hallway, the warm tears spilling out from my eyes. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of anything. My hands find the doorknob belonging to my room and hoping no one has seen me in my current state, I forcefully turn it and hurry inside, shutting myself away from the world.

xXx

A knock on the door causes my eyes to flutter open. I sit up slowly, my body feeling exhausted from everything that has happened today. Whoever was out there, I really wish they would just go away. My makeup is smeared horribly from what I could see from the sliver of the mirror in the bathroom and my eyes, bloodshot and puffy from the countless tears I had shed. It's a shame these prenatal vitamins I'm taking don't help with my emotions.

"Effie?"

Portia. Oh the last thing I need is for her to see me like this; disgusting, ragged, not at all suitable for a public appearance. I glance over at the small clock that sits on the nightstand beside my bed. Midnight. If she's at my door at this hour, there most be an important reason why. Adjusting my wig which I find is lopsided on my head, I stand up and head for the door.

"Good evening, Effie, I..." She stops in mid-sentence, her eyes widening slightly. "Oh my, Effie, you look..." I swallow hard and she stops herself at once. "Might I come in?"

"Yes, yes, of course." I say stepping aside so that she can enter. "I was about to call the from room services. I do believe the air freshener they are using in here is causing my eyes great irritation." Portia doesn't look convinced but I'm thankful she doesn't admit so. "Is everything going alright outfit-making wise?" I ask, motioning for her to follow me over to a small couch in the corner of my room.

"Yes, very well. That's why I've come to talk to you." She says taking a seat. "We're just about done adding the finishing touches to Peeta's and Cinna's hard at work with Katniss's. They'll most definitely be done by tomorrow."

"That's wonderful news." And for the first time, I give a genuine smile. Knowing that there was one less thing for me to worry about lifted several pounds of weight from my shoulders. "You and Cinna are amazing. I knew I could count on you both to keep up with the schedule. I really do wish I could say the same about the others." I exhale and give my head a quick shake. "But, we'll have everything straight before tomorrow's events."

"Effie..." There's hesitation in Portia's voice. "Can I ask you about something?"

I look at her oddly. "Of course, Portia, anything."

"Well, Cinna and I have been talking and we're concerned about you." Her hand rests on mine and I suddenly find myself feeling very claustrophobic sitting here between Portia and the arm of the couch. "You're a good friend of our's and we care greatly about you. We just want to make sure everything is going alright."

"Everything is going just smoothly with me." I turn my attention to the sleeve of my dress and begin to adjust it. It was the only excuse I could think of that would keep me from looking directly at Portia. "It's flattering to know you and Cinna care but really, there is no reason for you two to worry. I'm-" I stop suddenly when I see an object in Portia's hand. My prenatal vitamins.

"I found these by my foot at the dinner table." My heart is pounding with the temptation to snatch the bottle. How could I have been so stupid as to let it fall out of my purse? "They're not mine and I know they aren't Katniss's. Effie, you know you can tell me anything right? I would never judge you. You know that." There was no hiding it now.

"Haymitch." I say quietly avoiding a look of confusion I know Portia's giving me. "It never was supposed to happen. I only went to District Twelve to go over the Victory Tour schedule and one thing led to another..." I feel the hand she has on mine give me a gentle squeeze as if telling me to go on. "I don't remember much of what happened that night and to be honest, I'm glad. But, when I went to the appointment you set up for me with Dr. Pritchitt, I learned that it was more than just stress causing my nausea." And without a reason to, I begin to laugh. "And tonight after dinner, I went to confront Haymitch about his table manners-because of course, what with all the parties coming up, I can't have him going about being all uncivilized and it just slipped out. Just slipped out..." I turn to look at her, my blood boiling with anger. "And I should have known he'd act the way he did when I told him. Of course he'd just stand there with one of the stupid bottles of wine and just..." I close my eyes and inhale. I really didn't feel the need to go on with my story so I instead wait to hear what Portia's has to say about all of this.

"Why don't we go get some tea?"

I hadn't expected that statement. Slightly confused, I open my eyes to see her expression calm, a soft smile curving on her lips.

"Tea?" I ask as if I hadn't had heard her right. "When I look like this?"

This makes her chuckle softly. "Not to worry, at this hour, anyone who is up is not out of their rooms. Besides, you look quite alright anyway."

Tea. Maybe that would do me some good. My mother used to say that the real cure for any illness, whether it be physical or emotional, was a steaming cup of blackberry tea. Oh how I miss my mother; even more so now with everything that's going on. If anyone would know what to do, it would be her. Unfortunately I have no means of reaching her. District Three has yet to create a telephone that has the abilities to allow contact with the deceased.

I give Portia a small smile, "Tea would be lovely."

xXx

The lights have been dimmed in the dining car as Portia and I sit at the table, two steaming cups of blackberry tea sitting before us. Inhaling, I carefully lift my cup to my lips and take a sip. It was a wonderful feeling, the warm liquid sliding down my throat, sending the much needed heat throughout my body. The sweet taste of blackberries encases my tongue and I find myself craving the flavor more than just in tea.

"Are you keeping it?"

I blink in surprise and set my tea cup down. Portia's eyes are fixed on me and a wave of uneasiness washes over me. Perhaps going to tea wasn't just her way of trying to relax me from tonight's events, rather her attempt of making me comfortable for a long discussion she had planned.

"I'm sorry?"

"Forgive me for my bluntness, I only meant have you considered keeping it," I must look rather confused because she quickly adds in a whisper, "The baby."

I find myself unnecessarily stirring my tea, my eyes fixed on the swirls it makes when the spoon does a complete circle. "Well if you mean carrying the..." The word feels like sand paper on my tongue, "...baby...to full term then yes." I tap the spoon on the rim before setting it down on a nearby napkin. "As for raising it, I'm not too sure. I never had planned to have a child and definitely not one that has been fathered by..." I take a small sip of my tea.

"I see," Portia's quiet for a minute but I know it's not going to last for long. And I'm right. "I know after what happened tonight you're really not going to want to hear this, but maybe it would make things easier...coop with."

"What are you talking about, Portia?" I ask curiously, my full attention now focused on her.

"I mean you shouldn't blame Haymitch for his actions." Before I can interject she continues. "He's never been one who has the greatest ability when dealing with things. After all, you've seen him turn to the bottle whenever the Hunger Games start. It's difficult for him. Now, I know that's no excuse for how you described he treated you when you told him about the," She nods towards my stomach and I shift uncomfortably at the thought. "-but you have to realize that news like this wasn't something he expected."

"Well I wasn't expecting it either but it happened." I feel the corners of my mouth twitch downward in a frown. "The least he could have done was be kinder towards me when I told him. I try my best to be polite towards him and he makes it difficult, very difficult."

"He lost all of his family, Effie. In a way, maybe he's a little scared about losing this one."

Her words were becoming more confusing. Losing this one? The baby? Why on earth would he be scared about that? It made no sense.

"Scared?" I say, "Why would he be scared about something like that? I doubt he considers it family in the first place."

"Oh, I'm sure he considers it something." She replies quietly before taking a sip of her tea. "A lot of things happen that I'm not sure you and I are fully aware of. " Strangely, Portia eyes seem to dart from one corner of the room to another as if expecting someone to emerge. "I just think that maybe you should cut him a bit of slack, that's all."

Feeling a little betrayed as if she's taking his side over mine, I finish my tea. "Well, I'll be civil towards him if he is to me. I greatly dislike his attitude and quite frankly, with what I'm going through at the moment, I can't really handle it." It was a waste of breath on my part. Both of us realize that the likelihood of Haymitch acting in such a polite way at all was one out of a billion.

"I'm sure in his own way, he'll try." She finishes her tea and sets the empty cup down. "It's getting late." I watch as she glances towards the small rectangular clock above the doorway. "We best be getting to bed. You have to get Katniss up at six if I remember correctly."

I give a nod, "Yes, her prep team needs to get have her ready before eight in the morning. We have a big day a head of us."

"You need your rest too in that case." There's a soft rattle and the prenatal vitamin bottle is now in front of me. I had completely forgotten Portia was holding onto it. "I meant to give those back to you when we were in your room."

"Thank you." I manage to say as I slip them into my purse. "I would have worried as to where they had gone off to when I looked for them in the morning."

"Well there's another thing you no longer have to worry about." That makes me laugh softly.

"Yes, well I suppose you're right about that." She nods in agreement. "I'm right about a lot of things." And I find myself wondering what she means by that.

"Anyway, Effie, if there's anything you need, you know where my room is." We're both standing now as an attendant comes and takes the empty cups away.

"Thank you, Portia, I'll keep that in mind." To my surprise, her arms wrap around me and pull me close into a hug.

"It'll be alright, Effie." She whispers, "You're one of the toughest people I know. If you can shape the manners of two children from District Twelve into those that could easily be mistaken as those of the Capitol, you can do anything."

"I know." The words escape in a feeble tone and for the first time, I realize how truly terrified I am.

**Now, to clear a few things up starting with dear old Haymitch's approach to Effie's announcement:**

** You have to understand that Haymitch is going through a lot at the moment what with the Quarter Quell approaching and having to deal with people discussing with him what happened in his time in the arena when all he wishes to do is forget. Not only that, but because of what he did, President Snow had his family and his girl killed leaving him with no family. In a way, he hadn't had to worry about President Snow using someone he loved against him what with everyone he had carried about being gone, but now Effie-who, of course is clueless about all of this, tells him that he's the father of her child, you can imagine that he's fears of this being used against him, the guilt of knowing that if something happened to this child he would be to blame, get to him. It's not that he hates this child, Effie, and/or anything, there's just so much that could happen now that he doesn't really have the power to stop. He's not too sure how to react to it and by turning to his alcohol, it's his way of dealing with it all. **

**Now to Effie. Realize that she is going through more than she ever has had to go through before. She's only know a life that is covered by the security of schedules and such and all of a sudden, she's thrown into a new path where she's pregnant. Now, I know she usually tends to keep her cool but there is only so much a person can take especially while their hormones rage due to pregnancy. She loses it a few times when talking to Haymitch but put yourself in her shoes. If the father of your child was acting the way Haymitch was, it would be rather, if not very, upsetting. Not only does she now have to deal with things such as the Victory Tour (and she doesn't realize it yet but the Third Quarter Quell) she has to maintain her normal life along with the growing one inside of her. **

**Portia. I believe from reading the series that since Cinna had a bit of an idea as to what was going on with the rebellion and such, Portia did too. Even though Suzanne Collins never had too much of Portia mentioned in the series, I think that there's a possibility she had sort of the same attitude as Cinna. When Portia was trying to explain to Effie what exactly Haymitch might have been feeling without saying the exact words (I think she also felt, like Katniss, the Capitol was watching and listening in on their every word), she was trying to let Effie know all of the pressure Haymitch was under. **

**There, hopefully that cleared up any questions. Sorry about such a lengthy author's note, it will not be a normally occurring thing. I just wanted to make sure people understand why I wrote the characters like I did in this chapter (because, quite frankly, the reason this chapter was added so late because I was terrified I'd screw up their personalities so I wrote and rewrote this chapter and delve into my Hunger Games book collect reading Haymitch's and Effie's personalities so I could do my best to nail them.) Anyway, please review (knowing I did an okay job with the characters will bring me some much needed relief). And don't worry, sentimental Effie/Haymitch scene planned for the next chapter. Thank you so much for having the patience with this long author's note. You all are the greatest.-Jen**


	6. On the Terms of Endearment

**First off, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed and such! This story has reached over a hundred reviews and it's all because of you guys taking a little extra of your time to send them! I seriously appreciate more than words can describe. Your reviews have been the inspiration to keep me posting a new chapter almost consecutively! So, thank you guys, and I truly mean that. Secondly-and really finally, here's chapter six!**

Chapter six: On the Terms of Endearment

I blink for one second and the sun is already peeking over the horizon and so badly-even though I'd never admit to it, I wish I could just ignore everything and fall back asleep. But I can't. I have a job to attend to. Katniss had to be woken up and readied for the first stop in the tour, District Eleven. And even though I feel far more fatigued than usual, it's up to me to make sure everyone's spirits are kept up and their energy soaring. I signed on to be an escort for moments such as this and I'm not about to let a little bit of exhaustion put me down.

"Katniss," I give Katniss's door three quick raps. "Up and at 'em! Today's a big, big, day and we haven't the time for slacking. District Eleven awaits the bright faces of this year's victors!"

A soft noise comes from behind the door that resembles a groan but I ignore it. She'd thank me later for rousing her early, I'm sure of it. After all, beauty does take time to make happen. She'll learn the concept of that one day and she'd appreciate me because of it.

"When your dressed, please meet me in the dining car for breakfast. I have a few things I'd like to go over with you." I try to mask the weariness in my voice by sounding overly happy. Thankfully, I'm quite talented at that sort of thing.

From what I can hear, she's up and about pulling on something that probably wouldn't meet to my standards of fashion. Fortunately, her wearing whatever it was wouldn't be for long and I repeatedly assure myself that as I make my way down the train towards breakfast.

The hallway that leads to the dining car is still dark, the windows covered by the velvety red curtains that block out the sunlight. I pass by Peeta's room and from the stillness I assume he's still fast asleep. In some ways I envy that it takes far less time for him to get ready than it does for any woman on this train. After all, he gets a little bit more sleep than the rest of us. Something that I could use far more than he.

Upon passing the rooms that house the prep teams, I'm met by the unmistakable stench of alcohol. Haymitch's room. My hand quickly clamps over my nose and mouth as I hurry along trying to get past it. For some reason, the smell has grown even stronger and more unbearable than I remember. Could it possibly be because I am pregnant? Whatever the reason was, I didn't really feel the need to stand there and ponder it further. The smell was causing my stomach to twist and the threat of becoming sick was growing.

Finally, after several attempts on my stomach's part to make vomit, I successfully make it to the dining car clean as a whistle. New smells fill my nose masking the horrid odor that I experienced while passing Haymitch's room. Eggs. Bacon. Fresh blueberry muffins. My stomach growls with hunger and I quickly take one of the porcelain plates from the rack and fill my plate up. Katniss wasn't one who was strict when it came with manners so I knew she wouldn't mind if I started without her. After all, for all I knew she was going to be late-to my dismay of course, and I couldn't allow all of this wonderful food to grow cold.

I'm halfway through my muffin when Katniss looking rather exhausted takes a seat across from me. She looks like she's had a rough night but I decide not to press it further. We all have our troubles that we'd rather not share-mine of course, probably being much larger than anything she was going through. I merely give her a smile and turn my attention back to my muffin.

"Where's everybody else?"

It takes me a moment to realize that she's taking to me. Neatly folding the paper lining that covered my muffin in half, I blot at the corners of my mouth before straightening up in my seat.

"Oh, who knows where Haymitch is," I try not to sound cold when I say his name but it's nearly impossible not too. "Cinna was up late organizing your garment car. He must have over a hundred outfits for you. Your evening clothes are exquisite-or from what Portia has told me they are. And Peeta's team is still probably asleep."

"Doesn't he need prepping?" I nearly chuckle at her question. Even she should realize that a male does not require as much prepping as a female.

"Not the way you do." I say rather cheerfully. "Now why don't you have some breakfast? Your prep team should be arriving soon to get you ready."

She gives me an odd look before reaching over to take a muffin. I feel as if this breakfast was going to be one of awkward silences so I try to start up a conversation.

"So, I'm sure you've heard that lovely mockingjay pin of your's has become all the rage in the Capitol." I lift my tea up and take a sip. Blackberry. Oh how I've developed such a craving for the taste.

"No, can't say I have."

The corners of my mouth almost twitch into a frown by the lack of a lengthy answer on her part. But, as any well mannered one would, I try to keep up with the talk.

"Oh, well, it very much is. Many of my friends have gotten it made into various jewelry pieces and," I let out a light laugh, "My friend, Desmonda-she's the escort for District Eleven as you know-'' I could've sworn there's a flicker of pain in Katniss's eyes when I mention District Eleven. I'm not too sure why but maybe I'm mistaken and it was just the way the light shone in from the window; the brightness causing temporary pain for just a split second. After all, what could District Eleven hold so dear to her? "Anyway, she has the design tattooed in gold on the inner part of her wrist. Very beautiful craftsmanship I must say. Des always did have an eye for the exquisite."

Before Katniss even has time to reply, her prep team enters the room looking almost in the same shape Katniss is in. Is everyone this exhausted this morning? Perhaps I'll make an effort to discuss earlier bedtimes later on with them. After all, they cannot be looking in this poor of shape for the entire tour.

"Well Katniss, off you go now. Your prep team has come to make you look glamorous. I do believe the next time we'll see each other is..." I think back to my schedule of which I have gone over with myself so many times that I could probably locate every dot on an 'i' or cross on a 't' with a blindfold on. "Lunch if I'm correct."

She mumbles something that's hard to make out before placing her napkin on her plate and going off with her prep team. I watch as the four figures disappear down the hall leaving me alone at the table. Alone, at last. Quickly, I pull from my purse the small white bottle that Portia returned to me last night. Undoing the top, I dump out two dime-sized tablets and quickly wash them down with the last of my tea before shoving the bottle back into the dark depths of my purse. So far only Haymitch and Portia knew about my current predicament and I wasn't about to let anyone else know...for the time being at least.

xXx

I go back to my room after breakfast and go over today's plans until the hour of lunch is upon me. I push back the dread of seeing a certain someone at the table as I gather my clipboard and purse and make my way down the familiar hallway once more. To my surprise I'm not the first to be seated at the table. There's Portia and Cinna seeming to be caught up in what looks like a very interesting conversation. Peeta who appears to be listening intently. And the slouching figure sitting further than everyone else with a mangled looking muffin on his plate. Haymitch. All eyes except those belonging to Haymitch look up at me as I walk into the room.

"Well then, it's good to see everyone up and about." I don't look at Haymitch as I take in front of Portia who gives me a welcoming smile. "Did everyone sleep well?"

"Very much so." Cinna smiles as he lifts up the teapot. "Can I interest you in some tea?"

"That would be lovely, thank you, Cinna." I hold out my cup and he fills it to the brim. "So Peeta," I smile over at him before taking a sip. "Are you excited about today's stop? District Eleven is quite different than Twelve. Much warmer I might add too. I think you'll enjoy it there and I bet there will be some very talented bakers for you to converse with. I know how much you enjoy your baking. I hear you have quite the knack for it."

"Well, I don't like to brag," He smiles, "But it'll be nice getting to see other's cake work. Who knows, maybe I'll even pick up a few tips."

"That's the spirit!" Katniss enters the room just as I say those words. "Ah, Katniss, I was hoping you'd join us soon."

Her eyes scan the table for a moment before she takes a seat across from me. She looks as if there was something on her mind but I dare not question, no one else was anyway. I watch as she ladles broth into her bowl and, very distractedly begins to spoon a few mouthfuls past her lips. With Haymitch nursing his hangover in the corner and Katniss seeming rather preoccupied with her thoughts, it seems as it's up to me to keep the cheerfulness in the air.

"Well, I don't know about you all, but I cannot wait to see what architecture District Eleven holds. I've always been fascinated in that sort of thing." One of the servers brings out a bowl of fresh fruits and to my delight there are plump blackberries among the slices of strawberries and bananas. Doing my best not to seem greedy, I make a grab for the spoon and dish out two heaping spoonfuls onto my plate.

"Aren't ruins all the rage in the Capitol at the moment?" Portia asks with a smile. At least someone other than me watched for the latest trends.

"Why yes it is actually." I turn to Peeta and Katniss, "You two are so lucky. You have the real thing at home while we in the Capitol only can replicate it." It was a harmless statement but Katniss seems to frown a little at it.

Suddenly, I feel the train beginning to slow down. We couldn't possible be in Eleven yet could we? Then a thought hits me that causes my heart to stop. Sure enough, the server enters the dining car to prove my theory correct.

"There's a part of the train that seems to be malfunctioning. Not to worry though, it's nothing serious. We should be back up and running within an hour."

"An hour?" I squeak. "Oh no, no, no, no! That will not do at all!"

"We don't really have a choice, ma'am." He mumbles, scratching his head slowly. "We can't move if the train isn't functioning properly."

"But we are on a strict schedule!" I exclaim, my fingers tapping the clipboard frantically. "You don't understand how taking an hour out will affect everything! Why-" My mind races as I begin to flip through, "This could push us back drastically! I have had everything perfectly scheduled for months now! I'll have to make calls! Postpone dinner! Move the speeches back-not to mention how this will affect the rest of the trip! I-" There's a loud slam of a fist against the table and I turn to see Katniss glaring at me.

"No one cares, Effie!" She snaps.

I bit my lower lip as it begins to quiver. The stress of the hour pushing us back, being snapped at by Katniss, not to mention my uncontrollable hormones become too much. All eyes-including Haymitch's surprisingly, are fixed on Katniss who by now is halfway towards the door.

"Well no one does!" And on that note, she exits the train.

The room is quiet for a moment until Peeta breaks the silence.

"I'll go after her." He throws me a sympathetic look before hurrying out the same door Katniss left from.

"Well I..." I swallow hard, trying my best to hold back the tears which have started to form. "I better be off to my room. I need to...readjust the schedule. Excuse me." My voice breaks for the last two words as I quickly hurry out of the dining car and down the hallway.

I'm at my door in a matter of seconds. Swinging it open, I hurry inside and not even bothering to close it, I slump to the floor and burst into a fit of sobs. Oh if mother could see me now, how disappointed she would be. But I couldn't help. Nothing was going my way and this, what had just occurred had been the breaking point. I never should have taken this job, I'm failing so miserably at it.

"You left your purse.''

The gruff voice make me jump in surprise. Whipping around, I turn to see none other than Haymitch standing there looking rather awkward holding my large pink bag in his hand. Why was he here? Out of all the people on this train, the last person I had expected-or had wanted to see, was him.

"Oh, well, you can just go put it over on the bed." I quickly wipe at my eyes feeling rather embarrassed to be seen like this. Even though I really doubt Haymitch would care how I look. "Thank you."

He doesn't reply but goes to set my bag down on my bed. I expect him to leave but to my surprise he walks over to the wall nearest to me and leans against it. I look at him curiously wondering what on earth he was doing.

"She didn't mean to gear her anger towards you, you know." He's frowning softly, his arms folded casually over his chest. "She has a lot on her plate at the moment."

"I realize she's going through a lot. The Victory Tours can be quite stressful." I find myself adjusting the sleeves of my blouse. "I should know."

"Well, I'm sure she wouldn't want you to take it personally." And I begin to feel he's using Katniss's name when he really means himself. Was there a bigger reason for him coming here other than to just return my purse. Did Portia put him up to this? If I find out she did, I'd be confronting her later. "Just understand the kid doesn't blame you for any of this."

"I know she doesn't." I inhale deeply and a tissue Haymitch surprisingly holds out to me. "Thank you." I blow my nose before tossing the soiled tissue into the nearby trash can. "And I don't blame her for snapping at me in the first place. Though I found it very rude, I could see where she was coming from."

He merely nods and shifts uncomfortably where he stands. For the first time, I notice he doesn't have his usual bottle of liquor with him. Did he specifically not bring it when he came to talk to me? I'm not sure whether to be flattered by this or worry.

"I should be going." He mutters under his breath, "I have a few things to take care of." My heart sinks a little when I assume he means drinking.

"Well, thank you for bring back my bag. I really appreciate it." I tell him earnestly.

"You should...take it easy..." He sounds as if he's having trouble getting the words to come out. "It's not good to overwork yourself in your current condition... Or so I've heard." This makes me smile. Was it possible that he was trying to be-even very slightly, endearing towards me?

"I'll keep that in mind." He nods in response.

"Good," He walks over to the door. "Because there's a lot of paperwork that needs to be done when a person dies and I'd rather not be the one having to fill it out if you work yourself to death. Plus there's all of the interviews and camera crews and I have enough publicity as it is without having to deal with a famous escort's death on my shoulders." Leave it to Haymitch to ruin the mood.

"Well, I'll make sure it's not you whose put in charge if I die." I snap.

"I'll keep you to your word on that, Princess."

And for a split second I actually think he smiles. But in that same second it's gone and in another second, he too has disappeared leaving me alone to contemplate what exactly just happened. Haymitch was a very interesting character and I feel as if this isn't the last time I'm going to realize that.

**A little bit of a sentimental scene between Haymitch and Effie-though Haymitch had to go and ruin the mood of course. Poor fellow, he really needs to work on his people skills. It was a nice attempt on his part of course. Anyway, please review, it makes my brain work faster when trying to come up with the next chapter. Oh yes, and a few quotes in the story I borrowed from Catching Fire, just wanted to give Suzanne Collins credit for those.-Jen**


	7. Unwelcome Invitees

**Finally, the login page let's me on. I've been sitting at my computer for over two hours trying to get on to upload this chapter. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, alerted, favorited, and sent me such lovely PMs. You guys are truly the greatest and I cannot thank you enough for all of the support you give. As promised, here is chapter seven.**

Chapter seven: Unwelcome Invitees

I nervously pull at the cuff of my sleeve, eyes fixed on the large screen that sits a good few feet above me. Katniss and Peeta stand beside one another, each armed with a large bouquet of flowers as the speak to the citizens of District Eleven. I really wish I had been allowed to be on stage with them. My fears of them slipping up on their speeches or doing something that would reflect badly on me-and everyone else for that matter, swirl relentlessly in my mind.

A hand touches my arm and I turn to see Portia giving me a reassuring smile. She and Cinna seem quite at ease with all of this. Their faces clear of any concern or fear they might have. Haymitch on the other hand stands by my side, his lips pulled into a thin line as he focuses on every word that comes out of the victors' mouths. Did he worry like I did that they would embarrass us all?

"Well they haven't messed up yet." I say cheerfully looking from the stylists to Haymitch.

"Yet." Haymitch frowns deeply. "The boy might have pushed it too far with what he gave to the tributes' families."

Pushed it too far? Why I thought it was very sweet what Peeta did. And I'm almost positive those families were very grateful for those gifts. As I open my mouth to ask what he meant by those words, I'm immediately silenced by the sound of Katniss's voice.

"Wait!"

Haymitch lets out a groan but at the moment I'm far to occupied with Katniss hurrying across the stage to find out why. She reaches the podium, the large plaque that was given to her by Eleven's mayor pressed tightly to her chest. What on earth was she doing? I quickly glance at the others in hopes that maybe one of them would have the answer but they all seem just as clueless as I.

"I want to give my thanks to the tributes of District Eleven."

Her words catch me by surprise. Had she prepared another speech and not made me aware of it? It definitely wasn't scheduled but in a circumstance such as this, I decide to let it slide. After all, this was a very important moment for all of us and if worst came to worse, I could always pull off a few minutes from dinner to make up for lost time.

"Watch your words, girl..." Haymitch mutters as Katniss begins to discuss a tribute she calls Thresh. "The whole world's listening."

The corners of my lips twitch as I turn to look at him. Why was he being to pessimistic? Did he expect Peacekeepers to emerge from the cracks of the Justice Building and take Katniss into custody? She was doing just fine up there. Beautifully, I might add. But he was acting as if each word that slipped from her mouth had the capability of detonating a bomb.

"I think her speech is beautiful." I say with a smile as Katniss ends with a thanks to District Eleven's gift to her in the arena. "Very polite of her to-"

Without warning the image of Katniss on the stage disappears and is replaced by the annoying hum of static. You would think that District Eleven would at least have the decency to fix up their electronics for an event such as this. I shake my head, frowning as the bright flashes of millions of white and black pixels dance on the screen. As I turn to mention something about it, I stop immediately, my heart skipping a beat. Haymitch, whose face usually sports the gruff, no-nonsense expression now seems to almost look old, a little frightened even.

"Haymitch," I whisper, fear now bubbling in my chest. "Are you-"

Once again I am interrupted only this time by a loud popping noise that rings through the still air.

"Gun shot." Haymitch's words cause shivers to run up my spine.

"Don't be silly, Haymitch," I whisper, my arms tightening over my chest. "It couldn't possibly be that."

Could it? This district had already given off the impression of being rather pushy and cold. If that had been a gun shot then why had it been fired? My heart begins to pound as so many questions rush to my mind. What if they had fired at Katniss? Could there have possibly been a disgruntled citizen who attempted to do such a horrid act of violence? My eyes flash towards the door as it begins to creek open. Was the gunman coming after us now?

"We're going!" The voice is familiar. "We get it, alright? Come on, Katniss." Peeta.

A wave of relief rushes over me as the two victors emerge from behind the door. They look a little shaken, Peeta's arm tightly wound around Katniss, as they make their way towards us. My feet are moving before I realize what I'm doing.

"What happened?" I search both of their eyes for an answer. "We lost the feed just after Katniss's beautiful speech, and then Haymitch said he thought he heard a gun fire, and I said it was ridiculous, but who knows? There are lunatics everywhere!" I'm beginning to hyperventilate but immediately try to regain myself when Haymitch's words from earlier today flash into my mind. _It's not good to overwork yourself in your current condition._

"Nothing happened, Effie. An old truck backfired." Peeta's words are followed by two more loud pops. Definitely not a truck backfiring.

Haymitch steps forward. His face serious. He's eyes are fixed on Katniss and Peeta and the ominous feeling that there's something more going on that I haven't been made aware of washes over me.

"Both of you. With me."

Before I have time to interject, Haymitch, along with Peeta and Katniss disappear, leaving me alone with the stylists. There's a long moment of pause before Portia clears her throat, looking from me to Cinna.

"Well, I think I may go back and look over Peeta's outfit for this evening. I think the hem on his left pants' leg may be coming undone..." Cinna nods in agreement with her.

"That's not a bad idea. I may do the same. Minus the redoing a pants' leg hem of course." They both look to me. "Would you like to join us, Effie?"

The offer is kind but I had previous plans as to look about the Justice Building. Even though the fear of the gun shots still looms over me, I cannot help but be curious as to what interesting architect this district holds. I shake my head no and give them a warm smile.

"I think I'll take a look around. But thank you for the offer."

They look at each other slightly concerned.

"Are you sure, Effie?" Portia asks, "Really, we'd love the company."

"Yes, quite sure." I assure her, "And I think a walk before dinner would do me a great deal of good."

"Alright, just know the offer still stands if you change your mind." Cinna tells me with a smile.

I give them a nod. "I'll keep that in mind, thank you."

I watch as they walk away from me, disappearing out of the door opposite from where Haymitch took the Peeta and Katniss. I almost have the urge to follow them beside it best not to. Knowing Haymitch, he probably went somewhere where I couldn't follow and the thought of them having to send out a search party due to the fact that I got lost didn't seem at all worth the troubles. So, in my best interest, I keep with the plan of exploring.

xXx

When I step outside, I'm surprised to find that the previous crowd that was here for the speech has completely disappeared. The streets seem empty now except for the occasional person hurrying into their home. Even though this seems a little concerning, I shake off any troubling thoughts and begin to examine the cracking columns of the old Justice Building.

A few years back when I had just begun as the escort for Twelve, a rather large earthquake hit Eleven causing some unfortunate structural damage. My hand runs down the deep scars left in the wall as the question of why they never bothered to fix it up sits in my mind. Perhaps Eleven had been the inspiration of the district ruins theme back at the Capitol. I can still hardly believe that I have the luxury of getting to experience the real thing while my friends back at home only get to see the replications.

My foot steps down upon something soft. My heart stops when at first I think it could be a rat-I had heard horror stories about such creatures lurking around places such as this, but when I hear no squeak I look down. There, below my foot was what appeared to be a tattered doll. The eyes, black buttons, stare up at me with a smile made from a single strand of red thread. Now usually I don't pick up things off the ground but something about this doll intrigued me so, with surprising ease, I stoop down and scoop it up.

"Tulip!"

I glance up to see two children, one around the age of nine and the other around five watching me. The eldest's hands rest on her sister's shoulders, restraining her as she eyes me hesitantly. The littler one is staring at my hand that holds the doll, her chest rising up and down as she breaths hard. Was this her toy?

"Why, hello there." I call out to them. "Is this your doll?"

The littler one breaks away from her sister and runs over to me. Her hair messily puffs out from every which way as she pushes a hand through it, blinking up at me with large brown eyes. By the looks of her, I wonder when the last time she received a proper cleaning.

"You found her! You found Tulip!" She squeals pointing at my hand.

I smile softly and hand it back to her. She snatches it at once and holds it closer to her chest as if I'm going to try to take it away. Why did she care for a toy as old as this? Did her parents not take her to the store that often?

"Well, I'm glad she has a home." I tell her, my eyes wandering over to her sister who still stands at a distance from me. "What's your name, dear?"

"Daisy." She says shyly as she rocks back and forth on her heels. "And that's my sister Pansy over there." She points to the other girl who seems to shrink back when being shown to me. "She's afraid of you." She giggles, "She says you look weird with your funny hair."

My funny hair? I'm slightly offended by her comment but quickly recover. After all, she was but a child and not at all used to the Capitol's way of fashion.

"Well those are some nice names." I tell her with a smile. "I'm Effie. I'm sure you've seen me on the television before."

Daisy shakes her head. "We don't have a television. Well, we did but it broke. And I'm too little to see over all of the other people when were watching the big one." She points over to the large one that ever district has in their square. "You're not from around here are you?"

I laugh softly and shake my head. "No, I'm from the wonderful place called the Capitol. I'm sure you've at least heard of that."

To my relief, she nods. "I don't think my daddy likes the Capitol. He says they-"

"Daisy, that's enough!" I hadn't even noticed the older sister come up. She quickly grabs Daisy's arm and attempts to pull her away.

"Awe, I was just talking to the nice lady." Daisy whines as she struggles to break free of her sister. "Why do you have to go and ruin everything, Pansy?"

Pansy looks up at me with frightened eyes. "I'm really sorry about my sister." She whispers frantically. "She didn't mean a word she says. Please don't report us!"

Report them? Why would she think I'd do such a thing? Granted, I'm a tad surprised by her sister's words about their father's feelings towards the Capitol, but report them?

"Of course not." I assure her. "I'd never dream of such a thing. You have nothing to worry about."

Pansy relaxes her grip on her sister and gives me what I think is a smile. Daisy sticks out her tongue at her sister before looking up at me with a big grin.

"See, Pansy? I told you she's nice. She'd never report us." She holds out her doll towards me. "Tulip says thank you for finding her. She was scared when that loud noise happened. She got lost when everyone started running. But now she's safe and not scared anymore."

"Well, I'm very glad she's not scared anymore. That wouldn't be good now would it?" Daisy giggles and shakes her head no.

Suddenly Pansy lets out a little gasp. "Come on, Daisy. It's time to go home now." She whispers as she tugs at her sister again. "Mom and Dad will be looking for us."

"But I..." Daisy's eyes grow large as if she's been terrified by the same thing as her sister.

Before I can ask what has frightened them they take off. Their little shoes clapping against the concrete as the run. That's when I feel something nudging against my back. I turn around to see what it is only to come face to face with a Peacekeeper and his gun. Was he the reason the children ran?

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave ma'am." He frowns, his gun still pointing at me. "We need to clear the streets."

"Don't you know who I am?" I huff, trying to conceal my fear. "I'm District Twelve's escort, Effie Trinket, and I do not appreciate you pointing that thing at my person!"

"I don't care who you are. I just have orders to clear this area." He nudges me again. This time harder.

"Well I'd like to speak to your Head Peacekeeper! I really don't like how I'm being treated! Didn't your mother teach you anything about manners?" I scold folding my arms over my chest.

"Is there a problem here?"

A voice from behind me makes me turn. There, once again when I least expect it, stands Haymitch. He doesn't even look at me when he steps forward, pushing in front of me so that now he's what's between me and the gun.

"Just trying to do my job." The Peacekeeper informs him. "And this woman is making it rather difficult to do so."

"I apologize. She's not exactly right in the mind." Not exactly in the right mind? How dare he! "I'll get her out of your hair." He has a firm grip on my arm but I decide now is not the best time to struggle.

The Peacekeeper nods, his gun still pointed at Haymitch and me. "Just get her out of here." Haymitch nods and proceeds to pull me away from the Justice Building and rude Peacekeeper.

Once we're out of eyesight and earshot, he let's go of my arm. I'm about to snap at him for him being so impolite when the look on his face stops me.

"What the hell were you doing back there? Trying to get yourself killed?'' He points to the Justice Building. "That man wouldn't have hesitated a second to shoot you." I open my mouth to speak but he continues. "He doesn't give a damn if your from the Capitol, Princess. Haven't you realized that yet? If I hadn't had shown up when I did, they'd be washing your blood off the steps as we speak! Stop trying to defend your honor and start thinking!"

"I was only trying to see the Justice Building." The words come out quiet. "I wasn't bothering anybody."

"That may have been but if you haven't noticed, people don't seem to inclined to welcome us here." He's lowered his voice now. "Just think next time, Princess. I'm sure there are many escorts lining up to take your place but you're the only one who seems to have the power to annoy me enough into doing things."

I can't help but smile at his words. So he does care about me-or rather, I think he does.

"Alright, I'll be more careful and only go looking at buildings when I'm invited to do so." He gives some sort of a half smile by my response.

"We better get back to the others. I told them I was taking a bathroom break. If we don't hurry, they'll probably think I've died or something." He snorts, "Wouldn't be surprised if that was the place I was going to die in, the bathroom I mean."

"No," I crinkle my nose a little, "We wouldn't want them to think that..."

We walk back to where the others are located in silence. I'm tempted numerous times to ask him what made him come looking for me but I decide against it. Maybe some things are better left unsaid. Besides, I'd rather not have him yelling at me again... Even so, I'm touched he came out to get me. Maybe there is some decency in that man buried somewhere under all of that alcohol. The question was, how often would it reveal itself to me?

**I really wanted to have a scene where Haymitch was being protective of Effie. Once again, a few quotes in this chapter are in Catching Fire (just wanted to again give credit of those to Suzanne Collins). Anywho, please review and tell me what you thought. It always does my heart good to see a review.-Jen**


	8. The Essence of Dance

**Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, alerted, and favorited. I seriously appreciate all of the support you've given me! Here's chapter eight! **

Chapter eight: The Essence of Dance

For such a poor district as Eleven was said to be, they sure masked that fact with the amount of food they presented to us at that night's banquet. Of course, it could hardly be compared to what awaited us at the Capitol, but the attempt was much appreciated. The meal mostly consisted of fruits and vegetables-the products Eleven was very plentiful in, and of course your usual meats and wines.

"Octavia, would you be a dear and please pass me that bowl of sugared blackberries?"

And probably for the eighth or ninth time tonight, I am handed the bowl of blackberries. Thankfully, no one questions my large appetite for them. Those who know the reason stay silent and those who don't really don't seem to take notice.

"Well, I think today went really well." I look to all the occupants of the table with a smile. "The first speeches are always the hardest. Now that you both," I look to Katniss and Peeta who haven't spoken a word since we sat down. "Have gotten through that, the rest will go by smoothly."

They give each other a sideways glance before turning back to their plates. Why on earth were they acting like Avoxes? Had Haymitch said something to worry them? I try to assure myself it's just exhaustion as I gear my attention towards the awaiting blackberries on my plate. Just a few more hours and we'd be back on the train and they could rest.

The meal goes on in silence with the occasional bang from one of Haymitch's empty bottles of wine hitting the table. Everything about this particular tour stop has the sense of uneasiness and I'm more than glad when the time comes for us to depart. Unfortunately, they don't even allow us to thank the mayor for his hospitality as the Peacekeepers escort-and I use that term very lightly, us back to the train.

"Well then, I can't say I'll miss them." I frown as the Peacekeepers slam the train door behind them. "They were extremely rude. No wonder they were stationed in a district such as this."

Peeta, whose supporting a very wasted Haymitch, glances behind his shoulder. "Well, thankfully we won't have to deal with them again. Maybe it'll be better in Ten." Haymitch mumbles something that's too garbled to comprehend and Peeta adjusts his hold on him. "I better get him to his room before he looses total consciousness."

"Do you need any help carrying?" Cinna offers as Haymitch slumps in Peeta's arms. "He looks rather heavy."

Peeta good-naturedly shakes his head. "I'm used to carrying dead weight back at the bakery. I'll be fine."

I frown softly, my eyes casting down upon Haymitch. His clothes are stained various colors from the wines he consumed at dinner and the smell of liquor emanating from him would surely fill the entire train if not properly taken care of. As much as I don't want to, I feel the need to step up and offer my services to Peeta.

"At least let me help straighten him up." All eyes are on me now. "Well, I can't have him smelling up the place now can I?" I say rather defensively.

"Alright, that'd be great. Thanks, Effie." Peeta's words are mixed with confusion and gratitude as we make our way down the hall to Haymitch's room. "Really, Effie, I completely understand if you don't want to help. I've done this before with him."

"Oh no worries, Peeta." I open the door and he pulls Haymitch inside. "When I was a little girl, Mother got me a dog for my birthday. Damsel was always getting herself quite dirty which resulted in frequent baths. I must say, I became quite the groomer when it came to her cleanliness. Bathing a dog can't be much different than bathing Haymitch."

Peeta laughs as he sets Haymitch down on the bed, "No, I suppose it's not too different." He gives me a smile before turning to Haymitch. "I suggest you take off your jacket." He tells me as he begins to undress Haymitch. "This sort of job can be quite messy."

I quickly discard my jacket, gloves, hat, and my fine diamond earrings on the back table-after of course, scooting aside the empty bottles which had previously occupied it. When I turn around Peeta has already fully unclothed Haymitch and now tosses the dirty outfit he had been wearing aside. Heat rushes to my cheeks and I can't help but blush with embarrassment when seeing Haymitch like this.

"Are you sure you're okay with doing this, Effie?" Peeta's looking at me with concern. "I'm more than alright with cleaning him up on my own. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable or anything."

This makes me blush even more. I don't want Peeta to get the impression that I couldn't handle something as silly as bathing a naked man. So, I politely shake my head no and give him a smile.

"I'm completely fine with it, Peeta. Now..." I look towards the bathroom. "Shall I get the bath water started and you bring him in?"

It doesn't take long for the bath to fill and Peeta has Haymitch in within a few minutes. Haymitch, completely oblivious to what's happening, begins to sink beneath the water and it takes both Peeta and me to get him seated again properly. There really wasn't much difference with bathing a dog and bathing Haymitch. Only the fact that, unlike a dog, he doesn't thrash about in the water.

"I apologize for how we were treated in District Eleven today." I tell Peeta as I do my best to shampoo Haymitch's hair. "I was appalled by how rude they were to us."

"It's fine, Effie. It wasn't your fault anyways." He's scrubbing at the dirt underneath Haymitch's nails. "Hopefully the Peacekeepers in Ten will be more sensible to us." He exhales and sets the hand he was working on down. "Can't seem to get the dirt out from his nail."

"Here," I say scooting to where Peeta kneels. "We'll switch places. I'm some sort of an expert on this sort of thing. Or rather, I've seen my manicurist do it so many times I believe I could open my own salon." I take Haymitch's callused hand in mine and begin to work on his nails.

"Thanks." Peeta says graciously taking my previous seat beside Haymitch's head.

I soon finish with the first hand and reach for the second. Haymitch grunts in his sleep, shifting slightly from where he sits in the tub. His hand just brushes against my stomach. The light pressure from his fingertips is just enough to make me jump in surprise.

"Effie?" Peeta's looks over at me worriedly. "Are you okay? What happened?"

I don't know why I was so startled by Haymitch's movement. Maybe it was because he touched my stomach. My hand travels to the spot where his fingers brushed against and rests there. It's probably no bigger than a blackberry itself but it's growing fast, or so the pamphlets I have say. Apparently it, the baby, is moving it's arms and legs very rapidly but I won't be able to feel it for awhile. It's a strange concept to think about. The idea of a being, a baby, growing inside of me. And I'm not too sure what to think or how to feel about it.

"Effie?" I turn to see Peeta eyeing me with even more concern. His gaze focused on my hand. "Is...everything okay?"

I take my hand off my stomach quickly. He doesn't know about it yet. Neither does Katniss. And I'm not too sure if I even want them to know.

"Yes," I breath turning my attention back to Haymitch's nails. "Perfectly fine."

We don't speak for the rest of the time it takes to clean Haymitch. Finally, after several attempts to get some clothes on him, we have him him tucked away in bed. I take a moment to look at him while he sleeps. His face is still, forehead relaxed of any wrinkles, mouth uncurved. But even still, he seems troubled. And some part of me has the urge to comfort him. But from what?

"I'm going to go lay down and see if I can get some sleep." Peeta says quietly as he takes a step towards the door.

"I'll be doing the same in a minute." I tell him. "I think I may just check to make sure he has something clean to wear tomorrow. I'd rather him not go putting those filthy clothes back on."

Peeta nods as take a hold of the door knob. "I'll see you in the morning, Effie. Sleep well."

"Same to you." And I watch as he exits leaving me and Haymitch alone.

I had no intent of checking for clean clothes for Haymitch, rather just having an excuse for staying an extra moment. In a few moments, Haymitch is snoring loudly and I'm surprised he hasn't woken himself up because of it. Inhaling, I reach down and touch his hand for just a split second.

"Sleep well, Haymitch, and may you not ruin Peeta's and my hard work with cleaning you."

I step back and go to the table. Gathering up my articles of clothing, I glance behind my shoulder once more at Haymitch before leaving. Some part of me wishes he had said goodnight back.

xXx

Days pass as we go from district to district giving speeches, attending banquets, taking pictures. It's no surprise I barely have a minute to myself. Every waking hour is spent planning and prepping and soon I find myself getting only a few hours of sleep every night. Portia expresses her concern about this to me but I merely brush it off saying that there will be time to rest after the tour. Thankfully, I somehow manage to get everyone to the Capitol on time and by evening we are at President Snow's mansion for the exquisite banquet everyone has been raving about.

"Now make sure you're near the cameras at all times." I tell Katniss and Peeta with a smile. "You want to make sure they capture you both when important people come up to converse with you."

I'm not sure why I was telling them this. Since Peeta's surprising proposal to Katniss when they were interviewed by Caesar earlier, at least another two or three dozen camera crews had been allowed into the banquet to film Panem's most adored couple. There was no way there would be one second when they weren't on camera.

"We'll make sure of it, Effie."

And I'm not sure if it's the atmosphere but Peeta's words seem somewhat distant. This morning when I woke up, I have to admit I wasn't feeling as well as I usually do. Though it was most likely due to the fact that Haymitch's liquor reek had once more made it's way into my nose. The smell did have a tendency to make me quite nauseous depending on what state my stomach was in.

"Well, if you two have an emergency such as a wardrobe malfunction and such, I'll be around and Portia and Cinna shouldn't be too far." I peer over my shoulder towards the large bar that President Snow has set up to resemble what they call the Northern Lights and exhale. "And you know where to find Haymitch." They give a nod in response and I smile. "Now, just go and have a great time. Enjoy the food and music. After all, it's not everyday you are given the gift of being in the President's mansion."

I watch as they walk off hand and hand towards the many tables of food. Surprisingly, even though the food looks so delicious, I find myself not at all hungry. Actually, I haven't been hungry all day. Just hot. Really hot. Fanning myself, I decide to take a look around and see if there are any of my friends about.

"Effie Trinket! Well my word! I was hoping to find you here!"

I turn and to my surprise there is District Eleven's escort, Desmonda, hurrying over to me. She's dyed herself a rich gold and her normal long silver eyelashes now consist of mockingjay feathers. She looks marvelous as she strides forward pulling me into a hug. I hug back beginning to feel slightly dizzy. Maybe it was her new perfume.

"Effie, darling! How are you? It's be too long! Far too long!" She kisses both of my cheeks. "How have you been, dear? I've been watching you with those victors of your's. Do you like my outfit? I based it off Katniss's mockingjay pin! I thought it would be a nice touch for this event along with that tattoo of mine I showed you."

I try to catch her every question but she's talking so fast it's rather hard to. Not to mention the rising temperature of the banquet hall. I'm surprised no one has complained about how hot it's getting. One can hardly comprehend with all of this heat.

"I've been lovely, thank you for asking." I smile as I adjust the sleeves of my dress. "I've been missing the Capitol terribly though. But I must say, seeing those ruins in person was an event I shall never forget."

"Oh do tell. Do tell." She takes me by my hand and leads me over to one of the many couches.

"They were absolutely amazing." I say as we, to my delight, sit. "The history behind the walls of the Justice Building. It sends shivers down your spine."

"Oh I wish I had been there with you." She laughs clasping my hand in her's. "I envy your luck with seeing those. You have an upper hand in the style since you've seen the real thing now. You'll give me fashion pointer tips of course, won't you?"

For some odd reason my heart was racing in my chest. The sound of each beat thumps in my ears as I try to focus on what Desmonda is saying. "I'm sorry?" I ask slightly confused, "The music's rather loud in here. I'm having trouble hearing."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Oh my dear, Effie." She pats my hand. "Come, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

She pulls me up and before I realize it, we're half way across the hall. We're weaving in and out of couples dancing until we're at one of the many food tables. A man standing over a bowl of what looks to be chilled peach soup turns and walks towards us. Desmonda squeaks with excitement.

"Effie, this is Plutarch Heavensbee. He's this year's head Gamemaker."

The man takes my hand and kisses it gently. "Ah, Ms. Trinket. I believe I just danced with your victor, Katniss Everdeen."

I give him a smile, blinking a few times when he becomes blurry in my vision. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Heavensbee. And might I say congratulations. What an honor it is to be given the job of Head Gamemaker."

Plutarch smiles warmly. "Well, I hope I make a good first impression with this year's game." The music changes into a slower paced song. Plutarch looks pass me for a minute before turning his attention back to me. "Say, Ms. Trinket, or may I call you Effie?" I nod and he continues, "Well, I do enjoy a good dance. Would you care to join me in one, Effie?"

I really just want to go and sit down. The heat has become almost unbearable and the sound of my heart racing is starting to give me headache. But to turn down a gentleman is not at all proper. So against my better judgement I suppose, I smile warmly and nod.

"A dance would be quite lovely."

We go to the dance floor and he pulls me close. I try to ignore the fact that the ground seems to move underneath me as we turn, gliding gracefully with the music.

"Your tour has been going well so far I hope?" He asks as we spin underneath one of the many stars dangling from the ceiling.

"I have no complaints." I try to sound cheerful but the words come out meekly.

We're turning again and my stomach twists with nausea. I swallow hard, trying to keep down the bile rising to my throat. I don't feel well at all but the music, the thumping of my heart. Everything seems to be getting faster.

"I think I need to sit down." I croak out as he spins me around once more. "I feel rather ill."

But he appears not to have heard me as we dance further onto the floor. My legs wobble as I try to keep up with his pace, finding it harder to do so with each step. The room is spinning now and the music grows more distant. Was the song finally ending?

"Effie? Are you alright?"

I blink rapidly as Plutarch's face-or rather I think that blurry shape is it, comes into my vision. I open my mouth to reply but my knees give way and I crumple downward. My hearts racing as the room spins faster and faster, the shadows of what I think are people hurrying over to me. There's a loud noise. Someone's shouting? I'm not too sure what's real and what's not.

I'm sinking now into the darkness. My grasp of reality gone only to be replaced by the sickly sweet desire of silence.

**Oh dear, cliffhanger. Something's just happened to poor Effie. The question is, is she alright? What happened? And what of her baby? Hm... You shall learn next chapter! Please review, it might just make the chapter come out faster so you can learn the answers to your questions. Muahaha! Anywho, hope you enjoyed this chapter (besides my evil cliffhanger).-Jen**


	9. Forms of Love

**First off, I haven't seen it yet but a dear friend of mine is drawing a picture for this story so as soon as she uploads it to deviantART, I'll make sure to let you all know. Secondly, I'd just like to take a moment to thank everyone who reviewed, alerted, and favorited. Your support is what keeps me writing this story. Anywho, here's chapter nine. **

Chapter nine: Forms of Love

My body feels heavy. That's the first think I notice when I start to come to. No longer can I hear the sound of music, the chatters from the banquet guests, or the ungodly sound of my heart pounding in my head. Instead, all of these noises are replaced by the faint mummers of someone talking to somebody else. Who they are I'm not too sure yet. My eyelids refuse to open. Like everything else, they feel heavy. I'm forced to just lay there and attempt to listen to the conversation.

"Damn woman doesn't know how to slow down when you tell her to." The words sound slurred but maybe it's just my hearing. Something about the voice is too familiar. Far too familiar. If my thoughts weren't so scattered perhaps I could put my finger on it.

"It's not your fault this happened. Don't beat yourself up because of it." A new voice, softer than the first. A woman maybe? And what was she talking about the other one blaming himself for what happened? If only my eyes had the will to open.

"Who said I was beating myself up?" The voice sounds even closer now, louder. Was it that they were coming nearer to me or was I just becoming more alert? "I never said that I considered it my fault that she passed out right in the middle of the dance floor. Interrupted my drinking, that's for sure."

Only one person would say that. Haymitch. But why is he even here, where ever "here" is? I attempt once again to force my eyes open but to no avail. They must've given me something for my fainting spell. If this night couldn't possibly get any worse. I can only hope that no cameras caught my loss of consciousness. The horror of that being broadcasted throughout Panem would certainly be the death of me.

"If only I had known what condition she was in, I would have offered to help more." A third voice enters the conversation, one that is saturated with guilt. "How far along is she? The doctor didn't say before he left to attend someone else." So they knew of my pregnancy. My heart begins to be faster at the unanswered question of who this person whom knew my secret was. How did they find out? Did everyone know?

"Eight weeks or from what she's told me that's how far along I believe she is." There's pressure on my hand as if someone has taken a hold of it. "Where are Katniss and Peeta? Surely they heard of what happened."

"Unlikely they did." The only voice I can recognize, that of which belongs to Haymitch, replies. "The whole goddamn place is so crowded and I highly doubt it's the first time someone has collapsed tonight. There probably out there somewhere still dancing." Well, at least the victors hadn't been disrupted. I would've felt horrible if I had ruined this wonderful experience of being in the President's mansion for them.

"Portia says the baby is your's. Effie didn't tell me that you two were-"

"We aren't together." Haymitch cuts the voice off at once. "Princess here can't hold her liquor. Two drunks can't be trusted together you know."

Finally I muster the strength to open my eyes. It takes a few blinks for everything to come together. A tiny white room. Three faces that I now see belong to voices of Haymitch, Portia, and Cinna. Two of them, Portia and Cinna, look very relieved to see me awake. Haymitch on the other hand looks at me with a mixed expression of anger and annoyance.

"Don't even try to move, Princess." Haymitch grumbles, his hand pressing my right shoulder down as I attempt to sit up. "I'll get them to stick you again if you do."

Stick me again? So they did drug me. The nerve of some people. Inhaling deeply, I throw Haymitch an unpleasant look before turning my head towards Cinna and Portia. Perhaps they can explain to me everything that has happened without adding in snide comments Haymitch is so well known for.

"You passed out." Portia tells me what I already know. "The doctor thinks it's due from stress and lack of sleep. He gave you a little something to get your blood pressure down. It's nothing that could possibly harm the baby, of course." My eyes travel to Cinna and Portia seems to take notice in my interest as to why he's also here. "Plutarch came and retrieved us immediately after you fell. Of course, I, and forgive me but I only had your best interest in mind, told them of your pregnancy. I wasn't sure if that had been the cause of your fainting spell so I needed to make sure that Cinna and Plutarch conveyed that information to the doctor. After they had gone off, I went to find Haymitch at the bar." I look up to see Haymitch frowning deeply at me. "And after getting him, we went to find Cinna and Plutarch who of course were with you. Plutarch only left a few minutes ago. The party's coming to an end and he agreed to escort Peeta and Katniss back to the train. We didn't want them to worry so he'll only say that you, Haymitch, Cinna and I had some quick business to attend to."

"How are you feeling, Effie?" Cinna asks softly, his brown eyes full of concern.

"Fine." But the word comes out weakly. "Plutarch needn't bother with escorting the victors back. I am more than capable of doing it myself." I start to sit up but once again, Haymitch's hand pushes on my shoulder.

"You will be doing no such thing, Princess." He narrows his eyes. "And you can forget about that schedule of your's too. I took the liberty of taking care of it."

My eyes go wide. What did he mean he took care of my schedule? Frantic, I quickly look around the room only to find no clipboard. Heart racing, I shove his arm away from me and stand up quickly.

"Haymitch Abernathy! You give my schedule back right now! You have no right to take care of it!" I jab a finger towards his chest. "If any harm has come to it, I swear I'll..."

As usual, he interrupts me. "Does it help that I disposed of it _properly_? You're always telling me to be more proper after all."

I nearly stumble backwards but Haymitch grabs my forearms before I can do so. I don't know what to say. I'm literally in shock. My poor schedule. What had he done to it? Drenched it in liquor and torched it? Used it as toilet paper? The possibilities are endless. A surge of anger rushes through me and I begin to pound my fists against Haymitch's chest.

"You horrible man! How could you? How dare you! That was my schedule! Mine! I worked weeks on it!" I don't seem to be hurting him. On the contrary, he's looking at me with a slight expression of amusement. This only flames my anger. "You have no idea the catastrophic events you may have caused by destroying it! How will everyone know when lunch is when there is no schedule?"

"I'm going to take her back to the train before she passes out again." And without any warning, I'm hoisted over Haymitch's shoulder, kicking and shouting like a immature child. But at the moment, manners don't matter to me. I only wish to avenge the life of my poor schedule.

"Put me down! I demand you put me down!" I try to wriggle free as he carries me down a surprisingly empty hallway.

"Stop squirming. You'll only embarrass yourself, Princess." He grumbles as he pushes through two large doors. "I'm doing you a huge favor. You should thank me."

"Thank you?" I begin to laugh, "For what? Ruining everything I've worked for? You deserve no thanks! You don't deserve anything! You're a cruel man, Haymitch Abernathy! A very cruel man!"

"You really need to work on your insults, Princess. You're not the best when it comes to offending people."

We're out in the open air now. I can see over Haymitch's shoulder that the train has been lit up with various bright colors. Much further up than where we are is a crowd of at least several thousand people. I know at once they are gathering around Peeta and Katniss as they exit the mansion. Probably taking a few last pictures before we leave. I'm a little at ease with the thought they, the cameramen and important guests, haven't noticed my disappearance. After all, the focus of the night is around Peeta and Katniss. My flaw of fainting would have hopefully gone unseen.

"I do hope their exit was extravagant since I wasn't allowed to be there to make sure of it." I say coldly as Haymitch steps up and into the furthermost train car. "I can only pray Cinna and Portia got there in time to make sure everything went smoothly. If the victors caused any embarrassment to us, I will be sure to let everyone know you are to blame."

"You do that, Princess."

"Oh stop calling me Princess. I have a name you know." I'm growing tired as he stops in front of a door that I can only assume is to my room. "It's Effie Trinket! And it's a very fine, proper name my late mother gave to me nearly thirty eight years ago! It will be thirty eight years in three months! And you will not go repeating to anyone my age!"

Ignoring me, he opens the door and walks inside. I can hear the crowds cheering outside as he sets me down carefully on my bed. The urge to fall asleep slowly washes over me as I watch him go to the window and pull the curtains closed.

"Where are your pajamas?" His words catch me by surprise. Why was he asking such a thing? "Well if you don't tell me, I'll have to go digging through all of your drawers and I know you don't want that.'' He says gruffly when I don't respond fast enough.

"Second drawer on the right." I say quietly still very confused as to why he was doing this. "May I ask why?"

He doesn't answer only pulls a voluminous violet nightgown out and holds it out to me. The corners of my mouth twitch into a frown as I take it from him slowly. I wait for him to leave but still he doesn't move.

"If you think I'm changing while you're in here than you most certainly are wrong."

"Well I'm not planning on leaving, Princess." He turns around so his back is to me. "This is the best I can do. How do I know you're not going to rush right out of this room to look for your schedule the minute I step out? If you faint again we'll all be forced to spend another damn hour at this hell hole. I will not allow that to happen."

President Snow's mansion was far from any hole in hell as far as I am concerned. But the tone of Haymitch's voice tells me he's not kidding so much to my dismay, I quickly change out of my evening clothes and into the gown.

"There, I'm in my pajamas. Can you leave now please?" I'm almost pleading now as he scoops up my previous articles of clothing and carelessly tosses them into the hamper.

"I'm afraid not. Not until this train leaves the station." He's holding out his hands towards me. "Your wig."

I look at him bewildered. "I'm sorry?"

He groans, rolling his eyes. "Yes, your wig, Princess. I may not know a lick about fashion but I do know people don't tend to sleep in their wigs. Now hand it over."

"No." I say firmly. "You'd probably just send it off like you did my schedule."

"I'm not going to throw your wig out the window. I don't want to have to deal with another of your tantrums. Now if you don't give it to me, I'll take it off your head myself." And I have no choice but to give it to him.

"There, are you happy?" I snap as the locks of blonde hair I had piled underneath my wig fall to just below my shoulders. "You've destroyed my schedule, taken my wig, what else do you want?" That's when I see him eyeing my natural hair with a curious expression. "What? What are you looking at?" I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as I heat with embarrassment.

"Nothing." He states quietly, setting my wig on the dresser. "Just not used to seeing you without your wig."

I'm not sure if he meant that as a compliment but before I can ask, I am interrupted by the sound of the train whistle. There's the quick jerk of the train lurching forward and in a matter of seconds, we're off. Haymitch turns to leave once I assume he's satisfied that there is no chance of me jumping off to try to salvage whatever's left of my schedule. As he reaches for the handle I find myself calling out to him.

"Do I look bad without my wig?"

He turns his head and looks back at me. "No." He tells me, "You look...normal." And before I can get another word out of him, he leaves.

I sit back against the pillows on my bed. Normal? Was that meant to be a compliment? In the Capitol, normal was considered poor fashion but I highly doubt Haymitch meant it as that. Shaking my head, I pull the covers around me, the need for sleep becoming overpowering. If he wasn't too hungover in the morning and I wasn't too busy remaking my schedule, maybe I would ask him what he truly meant by his words. But for now, I needed rest. And I allow my body to succumb to the desire of sleep.

**Don't worry, Katniss and Peeta are going to find out about Baby Abernathy very soon-as in most likely (very likely even) next chapter. And the reason more people didn't realize that Effie fainted was because-you have to realize the mansion banquet is huge with lots of other things going on such as Peeta and Katniss being there that people probably aren't too focused with what little things are going on around them. And, like Haymitch said, Effie probably wasn't the first person to faint that night.**

** Sorry this chapter isn't as long as the others. I've been extremely busy today with working on school papers and projects but I really wanted to give you guys an update. I hope it was an alright chapter with the exception of it's length. I apologize for any mix ups with verb tenses and such, I'm rather tired at the moment and when I reread this later, I'll go back and fix the mistakes. Please review. I always love reading what you guys think about the chapter and such. And this story is growing relatively close to 200 reviews and it's all thanks to the efforts you guys put in. Anyway, sorry for the lateness in the update. Again, once I finish these papers/projects, I'll be able to update earlier with much longer chapters.****-Jen**


	10. Orbs of Iron

**Sorry for waiting a day to update. I've been really busy with projects as I said in my previous author's note last chapter. Oh yes, my friend finished the Effie and Haymitch picture and it's just far too amazing for words. The expressions, the way she drew the baby (the coloring she chose for the blanket is one that, unlike the assumed shades of blue or pink, does not give a definite gender), it's just outstanding. For someone who hasn't read the Hunger Games at all, she really captured Effie and Haymitch's looks perfectly I think. The link is on my profile page. I really REALLY recommend you guys checking it out. You'll be very glad you did. Anyway, thank you everyone who reviewed, alerted, and favorited. All of your support makes my fingers type faster and my heart leap for joy. Here's chapter ten. (And yes, I meant "Orbs", not "Ores". Just to clarify that it's not a typo).**

Chapter ten: Orbs of Iron

_The hum of static fills the still air as the large screen in the center of District Twelve flickers on. People slowly file out of nearby buildings and huddle close together as a cold wind blows, ruffling the skirts and pants of the thin population. The atmosphere was that similar to what it was on Reaping Day only I'm not standing in front of some magnificent podium with two large glass bowls. No. For some odd reason I'm standing in the crowd._

"_It's a shame." Someone whispers close to me. "Poor old Haymitch having to endure this. I hear that he isn't even leaving his house today. I guess the fellow has no hope for her."_

_Her? Haymitch? What was this person talking about? I turn around to find the whisperer but am quickly stopped as the Capitol's anthem booms loudly over the set of old speakers on the stage._

"_Today marks the beginning of Panem's Annual Hunger Games. And as you all know, the tributes this year look very promising. The Gamemakers say for us to expect the best competition yet!" The grinning face of Caesar Flickerman looms on the screen. His hair is dyed a light plum shade and sits pulled back behind his head in a ponytail. "And might I add that everyone is very excited about a certain tribute whose parent won the game several years back. It'll be very interesting to see if she lives up to her father's standards."_

_A victor's child in the Games? I look around the crowd expecting to her someone mutter her name but all is silent. All eyes remained glued to the screen, the faces they belong to void of any expression. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as the feeling of approaching doom twists in my stomach. Something isn't right about all of this. The question being what exactly it is. _

_"I think everyone knows how this works." I nearly cringe back as the camera gets unnecessarily close to Caesar's face. "All tributes must stand on their platforms for exactly sixty seconds. When the time is up and tributes are allowed to step off, well-" He bursts into a rather frightening fit of giggles. "Let's say it gets rather messing. So, without further ado, how about that long awaited countdown, Templesmith?"_

_The loud voice belonging to none other than Claudius Templesmith begins to boom over the speakers. "Sixty...fifty nine...fifty eight..." _

_The faces of the tributes appear on the screen, eyes focused on the Cornucopia. Some of them look as if they are frightened to death, determined, ready to shed blood to please the crowd. It's one face though that catches my attention._

_She's young, no older than sixteen. Her hair, blonde, is pulled back into a long ponytail that keeps any loose strands from falling into her eyes. Her expression, solemn, is very familiar to me as if I've seen it on another face before. And then I see her eyes. Gray. They are the unmistakable Seam gray eyes that many District Twelve residents have. And it's as if the world has stopped spinning. I know who she is at once. My daughter. Haymitch's daughter. Our child._

_Her head turns towards the cameras and it's as if she's staring right at me. Her expression changes as our eyes meet. Solemness melts away into disbelief, into shock as it was me who sent her there. I don't know what to do. She's so far away and this urge comes over me to reach up and grab her. I don't want her to be there. She shouldn't be there. Why is she? Didn't the fact that I was from the Capitol give her immunity from the Games? But there she was on the screen, her eyes bearing into mine as if I'm to blame._

_The gong sounds and the tributes begin to run. All except the girl with the gray eyes. Why isn't she running? She's sitting bait! She won't take her eyes off me. It's as if she's in a trance and can't pull herself out of it. For the love of Panem, does she not realize where she is?_

_"Run!" I scream at her. "Don't just stand there! Run! Run!" _

_And the next sound is unmistakable. The sickening, wet crunch of metal meeting flesh and bone. She's falling now though the expression doesn't change. The camera still focuses on her eyes. The dying question of why fading into the gray Seam eyes as the cannon sounds. Someone's screaming. Their voice piercing the air. My voice. It's me._

"Open your eyes, Princess! You're having a nightmare! It's just a dream!"

Someone's holding me down and I begin to thrash trying to break free. The vision of the girl with the Seam gray eyes flashes in my mind. The way she looked at me. The expression in her dying eyes. The moment of realization when I saw she was my daughter.

"Dammit Princess, you're going to hurt yourself! Stop thrashing!''

My eyes fly open and through what little light comes into my room from the open door, I can make out Haymitch's face. His brow is deeply furrowed and appears to be breathing rather hard. I open my mouth but all that escapes it a sob.

"I saw her!" I'm gripping onto his shirt, tears streaming down my cheeks. I take deep gulps of air but nothing seems to be able to stop my hysteria. "She was watching me! I told her to run! But...but..."

"Deep breaths, Princess. It was just a dream."

But his words are of no comfort to me. I just shake my head and tighten my grip on his shirt ignoring the reek of alcohol. My body is trembling as I suck in another deep breath, trying my best to cease my sobs.

"She shouldn't have been in there! She didn't belong! It was a mistake but they..."

"Who shouldn't have been where, Princess?" His hands rest on mine but he doesn't try to pull me away.

"She had your eyes." The words come out choked. "In the arena. I saw her. Our daughter. She had your eyes..."

A brighter stream of light bursts into the room as two figures hurry inside. I look to them and am met by the tired, but worried faces of Peeta and Katniss. Both, still in their nightclothes, look upon Haymitch and me with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"We heard screaming," Peeta says breathlessly and I wonder if he and Katniss ran here. "We weren't sure what happened. Is everything okay?" His eyes are fixed upon me and I look away embarrassed that he and Katniss see me like this.

"Go get her some tea." Haymitch says to him gruffly.

Peeta nods and, leaving Katniss behind, hurries off to what I imagine is the dining car. As childish as it was, I try not to meet Katniss's gaze in fear of being judge by her. I knew deep down that she most likely didn't care how I looked or acted, but to me, my outward appearance matters greatly. Especially if the person is someone you are in charge of.

By the time Peeta comes back, I have managed to get my breathing relatively back to normal but my body is still trembling. It takes all the concentration I have to not spill the tea when it's handed to me. I look at no one as I take a few tiny sips of the warm liquid. It tastes of raspberry, not blackberry, and I find myself feeling rather disappointed by it.

"Relax, Princess." I feel Haymitch's hand on my shoulder. His voice is unusually gently and even though I'm not used to hearing it that tone, I find it comforting. "It was just a dream. No one is dead."

"She gave me this look as if it were my fault she was there." My hands are trembling so bad that Haymitch takes the teacup away from me-not that I mind really, the raspberry flavoring was awful. "There is no way she could've been reaped. I'm a citizen of the Capitol. No such things like that happens to citizens of the Capitol."

"What's she talking about, Haymitch?" It's the first time since she and Peeta had entered that Katniss speaks. "What's going on? Is there something you haven't told Peeta and me yet? I thought we agreed back in District Eleven not to keep secrets from one another."

Secrets? Were there secrets that I was not let in on? I frown softly at the thought of being left out as Haymitch scowls, his eyes meeting Katniss's.

"If the secrets involved you, Peeta, and me, Sweetheart. This doesn't concern either of you." I watch as he sets the teacup down and looks back at her. "And personally, even if it did, you wouldn't be the first I'd let on about it."

"How far along are you, Effie?" Peeta's words even take Haymitch by surprise. We all look towards him and he back at us with a calm expression. How could he possibly have known? Did I make somehow ever obvious? "The way you said she couldn't be reaped because you're a Capitol citizen. I can only assume you're not referring to another family member. You mentioned to me last year while we were on the train to the Capitol that you were an only child."

"Peeta, that's stupid." Katniss lets out what sounds like a strangled laugh. "Why would she be pregnant?" But the way she's now staring at me, her mouth slightly ajar, tells me she may believe his words. "You're not pregnant...are you?"

Before I can answer, Haymitch does. "We don't know if it's a girl."

And he doesn't need to say the exact words of 'She's pregnant' for the two victors to understand. Katniss looks from Haymitch to me with a look of mixed shock and confusion. Peeta seems deep in thought as if trying to process what was just stated to him.

"You say 'we'..." Katniss finally says after a long minute. "Are you saying that..." And her eyes flash to me before back to him. "That you fathered this child? I didn't think you two even were remotely interested in one another...I don't understand-"

"What I think Katniss is trying to get at is are a round of congratulations in order?" And I can't help but smile at Peeta's support. I should've realized early on that he was too kind to be judgmental about this sort of thing.

"You can start by getting me a bottle of liquor. This is the second time my drinking was interrupted tonight." Haymitch glances at me out of the corner of his eye before looking back at the victors.

"I think I'll go back to bed." Katniss says quietly not meeting anyone's gaze. "I'm rather tired and the sun will be up in a few hours. I want to get what sleep I can before then." She looks to Peeta. "Are you coming?"

Peeta gives me a sympathetic look before nodding. "Yeah, I'll be right there."

Katniss leaves the room without another word. Once she's gone Peeta looks from Haymitch to me with a small smile. I knew he was going to apologize for Katniss but for the first time, I didn't find her rudeness towards me repulsive. I understood why she acted the way she did. If I had been in her shoes, I may have too.

"Please don't take it personally. She isn't upset at all with you. Just a little surprised. She's had a lot on her plate at the moment and I know that's no excuse but..." He pauses as if trying to think of something to say, "She'll lighten up to the idea." Glancing over his shoulder, he looks back at Haymitch and me once more before grabbing the handle of the door. "I'm not sure if this means anything but, congratulations. I'm happy for you both."

I turn to Haymitch as Peeta leaves closing the door behind him. So now Katniss, Peeta, Cinna, Plutarch, Portia, and of course, Haymitch, all knew. This wasn't going to be a secret much longer and the idea of others finding out frightened me. But now, I'm not too sure if it's because of my reputation. The girl with the Seam eyes and her possible fate still looms in my mind.

"You're not the only one who has had nightmares, Princess." To my surprise, Haymitch takes a seat beside me on my bed. His eyes don't meet mine but by his expression, the topic we're about to discuss makes him feel uncomfortable. "I have them too. Every night. But now they are about something different." His eyes wander to my stomach and I immediately stiffen. He had dreamed about her too? "Just because your from the Capitol don't think for a second that there isn't a chance they'd reap the kid. And if it happened, it wouldn't be your fault..." I hear him inhale deeply, struggling to get the next words out. "It would be mine."

"Your's?" I ask very confused, "Why would it be your fault if she was reaped? You don't choose the slip of paper from the bowl."

"I don't have too." He says quietly, "But the Capitol would make sure it happened, that her name was called. When it comes to upsetting the Capitol, they make sure you know your wrong doing. And trust me, Princess, when it comes to punishment, they aren't lenient either..."

"That's absurd." I look at him with shock. "The Capitol would never do such a dreadful thing. The Capitol is good. Fair. They would never rig the Reaping."

"They've done it before and they sure as hell wouldn't hesitate to do it again." He shakes his head, his brow furrowed. "There are a lot of things you don't open your eyes to, Princess. Your Capitol is corrupt and slice off my tongue and turn me into an Avox for saying that."

He's obviously very confused. I pity him. He never had the luxury of living in the Capitol. Never got to experience how well they treat us and how fair they are. Hesitating, I reach over and place my hand over his. He turns and looks at me, his left eyebrow raised.

"The Capitol wouldn't put her in the arena. My citizenship to the Capitol would protect her from such things as the Reaping." And I watch as he turns away from me, his shoulders slumping forward the slightest almost as if he's in defeat.

"I just don't want her getting hurt because of me. No kid deserves that. I've already caused my family enough harm. My brother. My mother. And the possibility that she is next is a thought that not even alcohol can drown out."

I don't know how to respond to his words. He cares about this child more than I had ever imagined and maybe in his own way, he cares about me too. But his view of the Capitol and what horrible things he claims they do is concerning. I don't know how to put his worry at ease without just offering him a bottle of liquor straight up. But, for the first time, as we sit here, I see a side of him I've barely, if not ever, experienced. He's being genuine. And no hint of sarcasm or drunken slur is present in his voice.

We sit in silence for who knows how long. My hand rests on top of his as we stare forward at the blank wall. Thoughts and worries run through my mind that I am sure also run through his. I don't know what the future holds for this child but tonight I learned something very important. That she has not one, but two parents who share a deep concern for her well being. Haymitch may not be the best man-he has too many flaws I can name if you give me several hours to do so-but I'm not sure if I would want her father to be anyone else. But, at the moment, I'm not at the liberty to tell him that just yet.

**Another genuine moment between Effie and Haymitch where they sort of talked about the baby. Effie still is very oblivious to how horrible and corrupt the Capitol is, but slowly she's starting to see things she doesn't like about them. Like Haymitch warming up to her, she will need to warm up to the idea of the Capitol being not as good as she thinks. Anyway, please review and tell me what you thought. Hopefully I did an alright job keeping them in character. Effie, of course, had a break down in this chapter but she's going through some very hormonal times so I think anyone in her situation would have handled it similarly. Anywho, don't forget to check out the picture. Link is on my profile as I mentioned earlier.-Jen**


	11. The Carbon Copy

**Important: Please make sure to read the author's note at the end of the chapter. I will be answering questions/explaining the reasoning behind certain things down there. Also, please visit the poll on my profile page. I have a question up about a future chapter that I'd like to know your opinion on. So, if you get the chance, please vote for your favorite option. Anyway, thank you so much for the reviews, alerts, and favorites! I'm excited that I've reached 200 reviews for it! You guys are the best readers anyone could possibly ask for! Here's chapter eleven, I really hope you enjoy it.**

Chapter eleven: The Carbon Copy

"Watch your step."

The train attendant opens the door and immediately I am met by the freezing air of District Twelve. It seems like only a few days ago that I, along with the stylists, prep teams, the victors, and Haymitch, were in the warm Capitol where one could easily get away with a sleeveless dress. But not here. Not in District Twelve where at least a good four inches of wet snow had fallen before our arrival.

Shivering, I wrap my sable fur coat tighter around me as I exit the train and step onto the platform. My eyes fix on the train door waiting patiently for the others to exit. Hopefully they all realize how cold it is outside and were intelligent enough to dress accordingly. And thankfully, after a few moments, I see the faces of the victors smiling at the crowd that has gathered not but a few yards away as they step off. Next come the prep teams and the stylists with Portia looking particularly ravishing in a lynx fur coat and matching gloves. And finally, still in a blue bathrobe staggers off Haymitch.

I frown softly as he stumbles through the snow, nearly falling down on several occasions. Since my nightmare incident we hadn't really talked. He seemed too preoccupied with a bottle of alcohol every time I drew near to him. Had the conversation we had taken its toll on him? I don't understand the meaning behind Haymitch's peculiar ways nor am I sure I really want to.

The car ride to the Mayor's home is cut abruptly. Due to the piling snow, the car cannot make it down the path of destination, so we are forced to walk the rest of the journey. We make our way, single file, down the streets of Twelve with the crowd cowering behind us as we climb up the steps of Mayor Undersee's home. No sooner have we stepped foot on the top step, the door opens and we're ushered quickly inside. Immediate warmth consumes my body as the glow of soft yellow lights illuminates the rather roomy interior of the home. It reminds me of my late aunt's home back in the Capitol where I would often visit as a child. She wasn't the wealthiest family member I had, but she had a way of making any room give off a comforting vibe.

"Welcome to Mayor Undersee's home," A man who I assume is one of the many servants emerges from a side room. "I hope you don't mind the lighting. The doctor says the dimness will help with Madame Cordelia's headaches." And I remember vaguely that someone had mentioned to me once about the Mayor's wife's dreadful headaches.

"It's quite alright." I assure him, "May I ask which rooms will be used for prepping the victors? It's prevalent we get them ready on time." The corners of my mouth twitch, threatening a frown as I gaze upon the makeshift schedule I had created since the untimely demise of my previous one.

"No, no, completely understandable. Mayor Undersee says the third floor has open rooms that you are more than welcome to use." He gives an odd little bow before standing straight again. "If you have any questions or need anything. Please, don't hesitate to ask one of the servants." And he disappears back into the side room without another word.

"Well," I say after a few moments of pause. "There's no time to waste. Katniss," I look to her but she doesn't meet my gaze. "Why don't you and your prep team go to-"

"Madge's room will be open." She says quietly. "We can go there."

"Ah yes, the Mayor's daughter's room. Well, I suppose that would work. Now, for Peeta..." I glance towards the spiral staircase off to the far side of the room. "There are supposedly many guests rooms on the third floor. I'm sure there is at least one open that you can use."

"I'm positive we can locate something," chirps Phebe, one of the members of Peeta's prep team. "And if not, we can make anywhere work."

I nod thoughtfully as I gaze down at my schedule once more. "And I assume you'll be getting ready too?" I turn and look at Haymitch whose nodding off where he stands. I'm surprised he hasn't collapsed yet.

"Already ready." He mumbles, the words having a slur to them as they escape his lips.

"Oh you are most certainly not wearing a robe to a celebration. I will not allow such things." My brows knit together as I glare at him with annoyance. He, however, doesn't seem to notice nor care.

"Well if you feel that way, I'd be more than happy to go back to my house. There are a few cases of wine that have my name written all over them." What in Panem was his probably? He's finally back in District Twelve and in the Mayor's house no less. I had previously thought that maybe he would gain some manners just for this particular visit.

"You will do no such thing. You will go up and freshen up and you will have a good attitude about it." It was like talking to a child. But when Haymitch was really drunk, there was no other way to speak to him in order to get him to get things done.

"District Twelve is my home, Princess. I'm sure no one would take it personally if I didn't dress up as a ridiculous Capitolian."

My knuckles turn white as I grip my schedule tightly. He's so incredibly rude. One minute he seems to be what I think is sensible for him and the next he's a complete ill-mannered fool. Oh how I wish at moments like this that I could bludgeon him. But, even though it's Haymitch, it wouldn't be at all proper. If manners are all that I have left, I'll make sure to keep them.

"Well," I try to make my voice sound cheerfully but the words come out strained. "You two better go get dressed," I look to Peeta and Katniss. "The ceremony will be starting in two hours and there is not a moment to waste between then." I usher them towards the stairs and just as they begin to go up, Peeta turns to me.

"I'll make sure he gets ready." His words bring a genuine smile to my lips. This boy's kindness was something I could always count on.

"Thank you, Peeta." But he and everyone else are already too far up the stairs to hear me.

Once again, I am alone while the others prepare for the daily events. Looking around, the atmosphere of the Mayor's house invites me to have a look around. Haymitch's words of warning loom in my mind but I am more than positive no Peacekeeper will rudely push me at gunpoint here. So, after a moment of consideration, I decide to do a little exploring.

I find myself walking down hallway after hallway gazing upon the many awards and certificates that laden the walls. District Twelve must take great pride in their mayor for he seems to be very decorated. I slow my pace several times to stop and read what each medal or paper says. Many are just simple things such as which sector of District Twelve was ranked the cleanest. Others bear more importance such as ranking the fifth most productive mayor in all of Panem. Though, when my eyes catch a picture on the wall amidst the awards, I stop in my tracks.

The background of the picture was a simple brown, the wall of some home I was guessing. In front of the wall standing side by side were two young girls, no older than fifteen or sixteen, smiling towards me with blonde hair that fell past their shoulders. They both seem very familiar but I can't manage to put their faces to a name in my mind at the moment.

"She was beautiful. Wasn't she?" Someone says quietly behind me.

Nearly jumping, I turn to see a haggard woman standing in a pale pink nightgown. Her hair, probably once a very beautiful shade of blonde, is now graying and hangs limply just below her shoulders. Cordelia. The Mayor's wife.

"Oh, I am terrible sorry." I say frantically. "I wasn't snooping. I thought I might just have a look around. It was terribly rude of me. I-"

A soft laugh escapes her lips and she shakes her head. "Oh, it's quite alright. You needn't apologize for such a silly thing as snooping." The way she moves towards the picture reminds me of how one glides on ice. Her frail fingers reach up and touch the frame of the picture, slowly running down the crevices in the gold painted wood. "She was so beautiful..." And she turns to face me and as our eyes meet the answer clicks. The young girl, well, one of them at least, in the picture was her.

Unsure of how to really respond, I nod and force a smile. "She was very pretty." It seems to be the right answer because the pale faced woman seems to brighten up at the remark.

"She was always the beautiful one. I'm ashamed to admit that I envied her sometimes because of it..." She shakes her head, fingers still running down the frame. "And on the day of the Reaping, I yelled at her because she got to wear Mother's sunflower yellow dress instead of me. It was such a silly thing to get mad about. I wish I could apologize to her about it." Her chest rises as she inhales deeply. The clear struggle of getting the words out evident in her face. "But how was I to know that would be the last time I'd see her?" She lifts her hand, fingers hovering over the two-dimensional cheek of her twin. "Poor, sweet Maysilee."

Maysilee. I had completely forgotten that the Mayor's wife had been sisters with one of the tributes who had gone to the Games the same year as Haymitch. Was that why Haymitch had become so drunk before arriving here? Did he not wish to see Maysilee's sister? I couldn't possibly understand why. I would think after such an incident they would become friends. After all, he had been the one she had spent her last days with.

"And when they took her to the Capitol I didn't know what to do." Her hands are trembling now. "But she got so far in the Games. She was doing so well...And I thought that maybe, maybe there was some chance she'd be coming home. Coming back to me." She stops shaking for a moment and looks at me. "But she didn't die alone. He was there with her holding her hand. And I never thanked him for that." A small smile appears on her lips. "But, he doesn't seem like a man who would want me to do such a thing does he?"

Never in my life had I heard someone wish to express their thanks towards Haymitch. Even Peeta and Katniss never really went up to him and shared their gratitude about him mentoring them through the Games. But here in front of me his late ally's sister regrets not doing such a thing.

"I'm sure he knows you are grateful."

But the look in her eyes is still full of remorse. "He blames himself and I really wish he wouldn't. It's not his fault she died. When the Games ended and he came home, I wanted to go up to him, to thank him for everything and let him know no one blamed him for her death, but I couldn't. I couldn't even look him in the eye when he talked to everyone on stage. And I know he was looking at me when he spoke. I know he probably thought I hated him..."

Hesitating, I reach out and place my hand on her arm. She looks down at it before looking back at me. Tears sparkle in her blue eyes and I suddenly feel very uncomfortable. I don't want to be here. I'm not good with comforting people especially when I don't really know them. But for whatever reason, she was confiding in me and I am trapped.

"He's a good man. And after all he's been through..." She pauses, swallowing thickly. "I wish I had the strength he has. And I know that if he had known what was going to happen to his family, he would've given anything to protect them."

And I cannot help but think about the child growing inside of me. My hand absentmindly rests on my stomach which lays hidden, concealed by my coat. I cannot help but wonder if Cordelia's words are true. Would Haymitch give anything to protect this baby, his family? But why should I worry about her protection? The dream had been so silly. The girl with the Seam gray eyes a figment of my imagination. But yet I do worry. And he does too.

"Ms. Trinket!" The man from earlier is hurrying down the hallway towards us. In a matter of seconds, he stands before Cordelia and me out of breath. "I'm glad I found you. The victors are waiting for you in front of the dining hall."

They're waiting for me? The dread of the thought of making them late causes my heart to pound. I turn back to Cordelia whose hand once again is touching the filmy face of her sister.

"I'm terribly sorry." I tell her, "But I must go and assist the victors. Perhaps I'll be seeing you at dinner?"

She shakes her head slowly, her eyes fixed on the portrait. "No, I don't think I'll be well enough to go. My headaches grow worse as the day goes on. But do enjoy yourselves. I hear the meal is going to be lovely. Perhaps I will get my husband to bring me some."

I shift uncomfortably where I stand. The Mayor's wife has the most interesting character that I cannot compare to anything or anyone else. It's almost like she's not really there. Her movements. Her voice. So soft and delicate. And as impolite as it is to think, I'm glad by the fact I'm being called away from her.

"Well, it was a pleasure chatting with you." I say after a moment of hesitation. "You have quite the lovely home here. I'm sure everyone will be enjoying the events of tonight. I do hope your headaches cease soon."

"Could you give him my word of thanks?" She turns to me but her eyes seem to look past mine. "Haymitch. He's here isn't he? Could you please thank him for me? I would do so myself but I'm afraid I have as much courage as I did twenty five years ago."

"Of course. I'll be sure to relay the message."

It's a rather odd request but it seems like this means so much to her. It's the least I can do, deliver the message. After all, the hospitality at this home is far greater than any place we had received on the tour.

"Thank you." The corners of her mouth twitch into a smile. "I much appreciate you doing so. I'm sure my sister would thank you also if she were here..." Her eyes travel back to the picture and once again, she is lost to the world.

I hesitate, wondering if I should wish her fair well. But, after a few moments of pondering, I decide against it. She probably wouldn't respond anyhow. Biting my lip, I turn and walk down the hallway leaving the woman and her portrait in the distance.

By the time I reach the dining hall everyone has been seated for the most part. My eyes quickly locate those who I care most about. Peeta and Katniss sit towards the head of the table. Separated by a few guests sit the stylists and their prep teams. And finally, as Peeta had promised, sits Haymitch wearing a dress shirt and pants made of navy blue cloth. He doesn't lift his eyes as I take the empty seat beside him which I assume has been left for me.

Dinner goes by quickly. Katniss and Peeta seem quite caught up in a conversation with the Mayor's daughter and for the first time on the trip, I see Katniss give what I think is one of her happiest smiles. She and the Madge girl must be close. I find myself exchanging a few words with a young woman by the name of Freesia who very much is inspired by my choices in wigs. Though, the entire time, I dread to tell her that such wigs as mine could never be purchased in a place such as District Twelve. They were far too expensive and high class for the likes of a place such as this. On several different occasions, guests have tried to bring Haymitch into a conversation or two but he simply nods and doesn't respond. And every time he does this, I give him a frown that he doesn't seem to pick up on. Why he is acting so rude is beyond me.

It isn't until around ten at night that the guests start to dwindle away. Peeta and Katniss shake hands with several people, wishing them goodnight and expressing their hopes of seeing them tomorrow at the Harvest Festival. I am about to follow them to go thank the Mayor when the figure of Haymitch sneaking out of the back door catches my eye. Unable to hide my frown, I decide to go after him and see what he's up to.

Upon opening the door, I am met by the unwelcoming cold air. Trudging through the thick layer of snow, I cross the back balcony. Through the little moonlight that peeks from behind the clouds, I see Haymitch leaning on the railing, the glint of a bottle of alcohol in his hands. He appears to be gazing off into the distance but when I take another step forward, he clears his throat.

"I'd go back inside if I were you, Princess. Your wig might catch a cold."

He either is a very good guesser or so my reflection in his bottle. How else would he have known it's me? Ignoring his comment, I make my way over to his side. He doesn't even bother to turn his head to look at me when I do so.

"Why are you out here? The party isn't over yet and your presence is very much appreciated inside." It's the politest way I can think of telling him that he needs to go back inside. Perhaps he's too drunk to realize that he's standing out in the cold.

"No one seems to be needing me in there." He responds quietly, tipping the mouth of the bottle past his lips. "And I don't like parties. Too many people."

"Well, you really don't have a choice of deciding to skip out of one or not. The Victory Tour always requires the mentor to be present at all events from finish to end. And you are no exception." He takes another swig of his liquor ignoring me. Angered by this, I continue. "I really don't understand why you are acting this way. The Mayor is awfully kind to let us use his home for the District Twelve section of the tour. You're acting unreasonably rude and for what purpose? These people seem to tolerate you which is hard to believe on my part. Why, I was talking to Madame Cordelia and she wanted me to thank you. And the way she talked about you, for a minute, I actually believe that-"

But I stop at once when I see the look on his face. It's as if he suddenly has gained several years in age due to the mention of the name Cordelia. Hesitating, I reach out and place my hand on his forearm, unsure of what to do.

"She doesn't need to thank me." He finally says. "I didn't do anything to deserve her gratitude." He takes a rather large gulp of liquor before tossing the now empty bottle over the edge. I listen closely, wincing as it makes a slight thump in the snow below us.

"She says you were with her sister Maysilee," He visibly stiffens at the name, "When she died. She says you didn't let her die alone."

"And maybe if I had been there, she wouldn't have died at all. Well, at least not by a cause of mine. If I hadn't had taken her the way we had gone, maybe she never would have come across those damn birds." He shrugs and I let my hand fall away. "But it's over now. Nothing I can do to change the past."

We're silent for a moment both of us, I'm sure, unsure of what to say next. After a moment of pause, I take a deep breath.

"I'm pregnant, Haymitch."

"I know that, Princess." He huffs, his eyes still not meeting mine.

"And you're the father."

And I don't have to look at him to know he's rolling his eyes.

"We've gone over this, Princess." He exhales, "Is there something you're getting at? I'd like to go back inside and grab another bottle of spirits. What they have here is a lot better than what they sell at the Hob. I want to enjoy it while I can."

"Do you consider this baby family?"

My question must've taken him by surprise because he straightens up before facing me. The moonlight reflects his Seam gray eyes and it takes everything not to go back to the image of the girl in my dreams.

"By definition that's what family is." He finally says after a long moment of pause.

"That's not what I asked." My arms fold over my chest as a chilly breeze washes over us. "Do _you _consider her family?"

"If I call her by that then she's in danger." He leans against the railing. "But she is a part of me if that's what your asking. She is my flesh and blood."

His words are confusing and it angers me because I don't understand. I'm unsure of how he feels towards the child except that he's worried about himself being the cause of her demise. Why did he think this way? Had the death of his own family caused him to believe it was his fault? He blamed the Capitol but why would they take so much interest in one individual and even go as far as to kill their family members. None of it made sense. To me at least.

"Do you even want to be a part of her life?"

I had been a question in my mind for the longest time. With the end of the Tour tomorrow, I needed to know what he thought about her. About the baby. Did he care what happened to her? What I did with her? Would he even raise a complaint if I just went and handed her off to some complete stranger at the Capitol?

"If they find out I'm her father, they'll be sure to harm her." He says quietly.

"Who? The Capitol? We've gone over this before!" I'm growing livid with him. "The Capitol would never harm her! The Capitol is-"

"Blinding you, Princess. And maybe you'll realize it when they finally decide to hurt you." I watch as his eyes flicker from one part of the balcony to the other as if checking for anyone listening in on us. "But I'll try to do for her what I couldn't do for my family."

"And that would be?"

And once again his face seems to grow old, stripping the usual appearance of drunkenness away. His eyes fall to my stomach for just a moment before flashing back up to mine. And the next words that come out of his mouth freeze any anger or rage I previously had towards him.

"Keep her alive."

**This is my longest chapter yet. Alrighty, now to go over things. First off, the way I wrote Cordelia (and like a lot of SC names, I got it from a Shakespeare play), was how I kind of imagined her personality to be. Sort of spacey, not really there (mentally) ever since the death of her sister. Secondly, the reason Haymitch was rather drunk during the visit to the Mayor's was due to the fact that it housed the sister of his ally. This of course brought back painful memories he'd rather not think about so, like usually, he drinks excessively to drown them out. Effie just didn't understand why. And Haymitch does care about this child but at the same time, he's afraid to because the fear of what the Capitol would do to it looms in his mind. The way he talks to Effie about it, he also is slightly paranoid (kind of like Katniss was on the train) about others overhearing his conversations. Effie, Capitol bred and raised, of course doesn't understand what he's getting at but slowly is starting to question it too. It'll just take time for her to realize the truth. Now, to answer some questions/comments.**

**To start, I was asked the question of what the gender of the baby is (because in Effie's dream it was a girl). Well, the gender of the child is unknown and will continue to be that way until he/she is born. Some people tend to call their child him or her even when they don't know its gender just because it sounds better than 'it'. **

**Finally, I'd like to go over the reason why people know (and will know as the story goes on) of Effie's pregnancy. At the point of where I am in the story, she's eight weeks along and the Victory Tour has not yet ended. By the time of the Quarter Quell, she'll be several months along and visibly showing. It would be very difficult (even with the different types of Capitol fashion) for her to hiding a pregnant belly. And I find it important that some people know about this because I have plans for later chapters and such where this information will be used against Effie and such. **

**There, hopefully I cleared some things up. I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sorry about any typos and spelling errors. It's fairly late at night and when I get the chance, I'll go back and do some correctly. I'm rather excited about the next because I have something planned that will try together some things I have planned for other chapters (and no, this doesn't have to do with the poll) including this'll help grow Haymitch and Effie closer together. Oh yes, and don't worry, time will speed up soon so that Effie isn't eight weeks pregnant forever. I'm very much anticipating writing about the Quarter Quell. I have much planned when it comes to that (many things shall happen much to poor Effie's dismay). Anywho, please review and vote at the poll on my wall. Your words and such are very motivating and inspiring to my mind. And everything that is given is greatly appreciated.-Jen**


	12. The Truth of Corruption

**Sorry that this chapter is being uploaded two days later than usual. I had an English paper on Thursday and was babysitting yesterday night so I was unable to post until now. Anywho, thank you so much to those who reviewed and such. It means a great deal to see that you are enjoying the story. Here's chapter twelve. **

Chapter twelve: The Truth of Corruption

_A single blinding light, it's origins unknown to me, shines down directly in my eyes. I try to move my hands to my face attempting to block the white glare, but only then to my horror do I discover that I cannot. It's as if ever muscle in my body has turned into steel. My hands, feet, arms, legs, every part of me refuses to move as if they have all become paralyzed do to some unknown force. Only then do I see the matted, blood covered cloth of my nightgown that covers my midsection and feel the emptiness that now replaces what once filled me. _

_"Congratulations, Ms. Trinket."_

_A figure now hovers over me, their head now blocking the burning light. It's a woman wearing a simple white outfit with a blue net that pulls her hair back. Something lays nestled in her arms. My stomach twists when I see the bundle of what appears to be blankets drenched in blood. My blood. I open my mouth to speak but no words seem to come out. Like the rest of me, it's incapacitated._

_"Now, now, Ms. Trinket. Don't strain yourself." The woman's voice is sickly sweet as she chides me. "We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself further now would we? You'll upset the baby."_

_But for the first time, I'm not concerned about my well being but that of the bundle snuggled in the woman's arms. It made no noise only lay hidden beneath the many soiled linens that covered it. As if the woman senses my worry, she gives me a smile that causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand._

_"Would you like to see your baby?"_

_I watch as she slowly unravels the sheets, my eyes fixed on the spot where I know my child's face will appear at any second. But the more the woman unravels, the smaller the bundle gets and soon it's far too small to be that of a normal sized baby. My heart's pounding now, the dread of something being wrong seeping into my mind as she pulls back the final fold in the bundle._

_A rose. A single white rose lays in place of where the baby should have been. Dread is replaced by panic as I see that the figure, once a woman, has now transformed into none other than President Snow. His eyes are cast down upon me, puffy lips curled into a wry smile. Suddenly an ear splitting wail fills the air. Nothing else could make a sound like that except one thing. A baby. My baby._

_"Do not take this personally, Ms. Trinket." His eyes travel over towards the direction of the wails. "If the father had been anyone else, your child would have been untouched. You must understand, Ms. Trinket, we are doing this with the Capitol's best interest in mind." _

_If the father had been anyone else? The Capitol's best interest? What on Panem is he talking about? My mind is racing, the thoughts of what they could be doing to my child swirl in my head. Her cries seem so close and yet, they are so far away. It's as if she's right behind President Snow and if only I could move my arms, maybe I'd be able to grab her, take her away from this horrible place. But I can't. I frozen, forced to listen to the shrieks from my distressed baby._

_"I must go now, Ms. Trinket." I watch in horror as he takes a step back. "There are things I must attend to." His eyes flicker in the direction of the cries. "I bid you fair well, Ms. Trinket, and a quick recovery."_

_I want to scream, to yell, to do something to make him stop in his tracks but all I can do is watch as he disappears out of my path of vision, the wails growing quieter as his footsteps become less and less audible. There had been nothing I could do. My child had been torn, ripped from my womb, and I did not protect her. She was gone and Haymitch's words "keep her alive" had been a waste of breath..._

It's the rush of air as I gasp that brings me into a sudden consciousness. An unknown force wrenches my body in a sitting position on the bed as my hands flutter frantically over my stomach. No blood, no bright light, no rose, only the small swell of my stomach that seems to be untouched. Relief washes over me as the realization that it was merely a dream hits.

"Effie?"

The soft voice is followed by a knock on the door. It takes me a minute to recall where I am; the residence of the Everdeens', whom had been kind enough to allow me to stay in their home while I did a little preparation for the upcoming wedding photo shoot President Snow had requested be within a few weeks. Though today, exactly one week since the Harvest Festival, I would be traveling home to bring back the plans and such to the stylists who, unlike myself, had left earlier in the week for the Capitol.

"Effie? You asked Katniss to wake you up at eight but since she's not here at the moment, I thought I would."

The voice belongs to Primrose Everdeen, the young sister of Katniss whose name I had drawn for the Reaping. Surprisingly, when I first saw here since then, she had grown a little less, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, mangy looking. Perhaps it was the surplus of food she had been receiving due to her sister's winnings.

"Yes, well thank you, dear." I call to her as I get out of the bed. "I shall be down in just a little while after I dress and pack up my things."

I hear her footsteps as she disappears away from the door. A moment passes before I walk over to the closet and begin to assemble my attire for the day. It has become noticeable-especially this week-that my clothes are becoming rather snug around my midsection. Capitol wear, even though it had the puffy appearance in some cases, tended to be skin tight around the waist and thighs to give a better figure form. Because of this, my outfits have become harder to get on as body changes. Luckily I'd hopefully be able to purchase some loose-fitting clothes upon my return to the Capitol.

As I promised Prim, I do not stay long in my room. After managing to fit into my last unworn outfit, I make my way downstairs and into the small kitchen. Unlike breakfast on the train, all that is waiting for me are a few of rolls I assume are from Peeta and a glass of water. Though, it would be rude to complain about such a meager dish, so trying to push back my raging hunger, I still down with a forced smile and pick up a roll.

"Good morning, Ms. Trinket." Mrs. Everdeen's lips twitch into a small smile as she walks over to me with a cup of tea. "I hope you slept well last night." She sets the tea in front of me before pulling up a chair. "I apologize that Katniss didn't wake you up. She left early this morning."

"Please, call me, Effie." I take the tea and sip it, very much grateful for the warmth. "And it's quite alright," I assure her. "Prim was ever so kind in making sure I was awake. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated. Where is Katniss this morning?"

"Oh, well, I'm not too sure to be quite frank. She usually goes off on her own during Sunday mornings." Her eyes don't meet mine as she speaks and I wonder if there's something she could be hiding. What it could possibly be I am unsure of but to ask would be considerably rude.

"I see..." I pause for a moment to take another bite out of my roll. "Well, I do hope I see her before I depart. I would like to wish her goodbye."

Mrs. Everdeen smiles softly, "Well, if you don't, I'll be sure to relay the message to her."

The rest of the meal goes on in silence. After I finish off a third roll, I excuse myself from the table. One thing I need to do before leaving Twelve is say goodbye to Haymitch. For some strange reason I feel a pang of sadness towards this. Perhaps a small part-a very small part-of me wanted to stay here for him. But such a thing just wouldn't do even if I was expecting his child. So, taking a deep breath, I venture out into the cold outdoors.

Tiny snowflakes drift down as I make my way through the harden crusts of ice towards Haymitch's home. Rumors were that an expected blizzard was to hit tomorrow morning in Twelve and I'm quite thankful that I will not be around to see it. I'm not one for the cold weather and luckily that's something I needn't worry about in the Capitol.

Once I'm at the door, I give it a firm rap. There is, as I should have expected, no answer. The corners of my lips twitch threatening a frown as I rap once again hoping that maybe this time he'll hear me. Again, no answer.

"Haymitch!" I call out agitated. "Haymitch, open up!"

I hear no footsteps nor groan from the other side. Beginning to worry, I decide to resort to threats, hoping that maybe they'll bring him forward.

"I will make sure your alcohol supply is cut if you do not open this door this instant!" But even that doesn't bring him to the door. "Haymitch, please," I plead as the wind begins to blow. "It's cold out here, let me in!"

I begin to fear that maybe he has drowned in his own vomit. Glancing around in hopes no one sees what I'm about to do, I break into Haymitch's house-or rather, I enter without an invite.

I'm at once met by the ungodly stench of alcohol, rotting food, and soiled clothes as my stomach heaves. This is the reason as to why I asked the Everdeens to allow me to stay in their household and not Haymitch. There was only so much stench my nose and stomach could take at once. Taking a deep breath, I push through the litter on the floor and begin to search for Haymitch.

"Haymitch? Are you in here?" I call out, my eyes scanning every corner for a slumped over figure.

I make my way through the empty leaving room and into the kitchen. Somehow, Haymitch's home manages to be colder than the outside air. How is he able to stand not having the heat going? He must be freezing at night. After searching the kitchen, living room, bathroom, and Haymitch's room, I come to the conclusion that he's not home.

Finding a clean chair, I take a seat, wondering to myself if he and Katniss are off somewhere. She had mentioned on the train something about secrets that were being kept between her, Haymitch, and Peeta. Perhaps they are off doing secretive business and the idea of it makes me frown. If ill-manners is my top pet peeve, being left out of the loop took second place.

Several minutes pass and there is still no sign of Haymitch. Peering around, I note the clock perched above the stove top that by some miracle still seems to be working. This lets me see that I have but a few hours before the train departs and I grow uneasy at the thought of Haymitch not being back in time before it does. I'm not too sure why it mattered so much to me. All week I had waited for him to mention something about my leaving and he didn't say a word. Secretly, I almost wanted him to try to talk me out of it. Not because I didn't want to go back home-because I really did-but because it would make me feel a little wanted. It's such a silly feeling but lately with my hormones raging, my emotions are haywire. I wish I didn't have these strange desires towards Haymitch, but I really couldn't help it. Hopefully it's just a phase and will pass soon.

As minutes continue to tick away, I can't help but ponder about the baby while I sit here waiting for Haymitch. What would happen on my returning to the Capitol? Life wouldn't possibly be normal. By the time of the Quarter Quell, I'd be a good several months into my pregnancy and then what? After the baby is born do I keep it or give it up for adoption? I couldn't see Haymitch dropping down on one knee and proposing that I marry him. And to be honest, after all the times we had sort of talked about the baby, he didn't seem to key about being involved in her life. Always he'd mention his silly fear about something happening to her because of him. It made absolutely no sense, his view of the Capitol. And yet, as false as his accusations are, I still find myself having nightmares about them.

I must've fallen asleep because when I open my eyes I can see through the window that it has grown increasingly dark. My eyes flash over to the clock and to my horror I see that in just an hour, my train will be leaving. Whether it's the fear I'll miss my ride or the anger of Haymitch never showing up, I stand up abruptly and make my way to and out of the door thinking that perhaps by now at least Katniss would be back and I could wish both her and Peeta a farewell.

Another few inches of snow have fallen since my journey to Haymitch's house and I trudge through them difficultly until I'm at the entrance of the Everdeen home. I barely have time to take hold of the door handle when a woman pushes past me nearly knocking me over into the snow. She doesn't even apologize as she rushes into the house not bothering to shut the door.

"Why the nerve of-"

But I stop at once when I see the image through the open door. There, laying on the table is a boy laying flat on his stomach. Bile rises to my throat when I catch sight of the mangled, bloodied mess of his back. It looks as if someone has taken an object and sliced his flesh repeatedly. The woman who push passed me is kneeling in front of him, his hand gripped tightly in her's. What had happened to this boy that had caused his back to be torn up so? Just the look of it causes me to dry heave.

"Somebody get her out of here."

I'm not sure who spoke the words but immediately I am pulled away from the door and back outside. When I finally bother to lift my head and see who it is, I am met by the frowning face of none of than Haymitch. But I am no longer mad nor curious about his absence. The image of the wounded boy inside is still fresh in my mind.

"What were you doing gagging back there, Princess? The kid's mother is already upset enough as it is without you becoming sick at the sight of her son."

Him snapping at me is uncalled for but I am in no mood to lash out about it. I'm still too in shock to wrap my head around things. I had seen kids wounded and killed several times during the televised Hunger Games, but never had I experienced someone wounded first hand. Haymitch seems to pick up on my sudden weakness as his hands grab on to my forearms, keeping me up right.

"Wha...what happened?" I manage to finally say.

"Mishap with a Peacekeeper." He replies gruffly keeping a strong grip on me. "Where did you come from anyway?"

I ignore his question. All I wish to do now is go home. I don't even care that all of my belongings are inside. I'm sure the Everdeens would be more than happy to mail them to me. After what I just saw, all I want to do is disappear from this place and try to forget about the bloodied boy.

"I want to go to the train now." I say frantically looking into his eyes. "I want to leave now."

"I'm afraid you can't do that, Princess." He says quietly.

I'm shocked by his words. What in Panem did he mean I couldn't leave? Of course I could! He didn't have any authority in keeping me here. I could go about as I please. I am a free woman. A free Capitolian woman. Glaring at him, I wrench back so that we stand a foot apart. He doesn't move from his spot, only cross his arms as he eyes me.

"What do you mean I can't go?" I hiss, "Of course I can. I am sure that the Everdeens wouldn't mind mailing my stuff to me."

"You can't leave, Princess," He frowns, "After what happened today, I am more than positive President Snow has put the whole District Twelve underlock down. It doesn't take long for news to travel to him. And it won't matter to him if you're a citizen of the Capitol or not. Everyone who is here now is stuck here until the lockdown is lifted and God only knows how long that'll be. Looks like your planned visit will be extended."

My heart stops at his words. Lockdown of District Twelve? I search Haymitch's eyes in hopes that I'd find a glint of something that'd say he was lying but of course, I found none. I, against my own wishes, was going to be trapped here in Twelve.

Trapped here with impolite, unclean citizens.

Trapped with ungodly cold weather.

And trapped here with Haymitch.

**Well, I thought that this would be a creative way of somehow figuring out how to get Effie to stay in District Twelve. After all, there wouldn't be much interaction with Haymitch if she were in the Capitol. Anywho, I rewrote this chapter several times (I had a very strange form of writer's block where I knew what I wanted to happen in the chapter but I just couldn't write it.) I may or may not redo this chapter in the near future (I'm not too proud of it, I apologize if it isn't the best) but for now I'll keep it up and go back later to fix typos and such. Please review. I really enjoy writing this story, and it would really help me along if my readers would write reviews after they have read each chapter. I would like to know whether I am doing okay, and if anything needs changing.-Jen**


	13. Degrees of Cold

**Thank you so much TheGirlWhoWasOnFire21, American Fantasy, Joshissmexy92, Savysnape7, Firing Rockets on Dragons, Allyson Kat, cato, anon, OliviaMellark (sorry Olivia, it wouldn't allow me to put the period in your username. I believe it thinks it's an address), DangerousD, LTree16, MissEffieTrinket, PilotProject, HB rules, PriscilaOrglene, Ember Belli, Rippl, and TwiHarInk113 for your wonderful reviews of the last chapter. They really were an inspiration to me when working on this new chapter. Anywho, here's chapter thirteen.**

Chapter thirteen: Degrees of Cold

The snow is falling heavier now as it begins to form a fluffy blanket over my shoes. The ice crystals dance as the warm glow from the Everdeens' household reflects off of them through the cracked door. The blizzard finally has fallen over the now silenced District Twelve only making the event of what happened today seem even gloomier. I don't look up as I feel someone's hand wrap around my forearm. My mind has grown hazy as the thought of being trapped here sinks deeper and deeper into my head.

"Come on, Princess." Haymitch's voice cuts through my thoughts. "Katniss's mother has enough problems as it is without you catching a cold out here in this weather."

We begin to walk but not towards the warm glow of the Everdeens' house. No, we're trudging further now, retracing the now buried steps I made when I made my way from Haymitch's house earlier. I peer up at him as the wind howls loudly, stinging my face with snow. Somehow I am still able to barely make out his face through the blackness. He's tight-lipped, eyes unblinking as we make our way towards his home. I swallow hard, hesitating before I open my mouth.

"Where are we going?"

I already know the answer to the question but I want to know the reasoning behind it. I really didn't want to go to Haymitch's cold, liquor-reeking home, but at the same time, the image that I saw back at the Everdeens' is still plastered in my mind almost making the rundown housing of Haymitch's seem like a five star hotel. In response to what I asked, he lets out a huff.

"To the _very generous _gift the your Capitol gave me when I became a victor."

His grip tightens on me as we climb up the icy steps. I end up slipping a few times but the way he's holding onto me, I don't fall. When he finally opens the door, the fumes of alcohol seep out causing me to cough. I turn my head to see him muttering something inaudible under his breath as we step inside the dark room.

"My clothes are over at the Everdeens'." I say quietly as he flips on the overhead light revealing, for the first time, how disgustingly trashed his home is.

"Not my problem, Princess." He replies gruffly, shoving a few bottles aside with his foot. "Maybe if you're lucky, someone will bring them over. But with what's going on right now," He grunts, clearing his throat, "I highly doubt it."

I frown at his rudeness. Why did he treat me so harshly? Or anyone for that matter? My arms constrict over my chest, holding in whatever warmth they can as I grow cold standing in the low temperature room. Shivering, I step away from the door and look at Haymitch who doesn't seem to notice that I'm freezing right before his eyes.

"Do you not turn on the heat in here?" But through the sound of my chattering teeth, I'm unsure how distinct my words are. "Your house is no better than it is outside? How you manage not to get hypothermia, I am still unsure of."

"Heat hasn't worked in weeks." He mutters, scooping a brown bottle from the floor. "And at least it's not snowing in here." With ease, he pops off the top of the bottle and takes a large swig. "You'll get used to it after awhile."

"Well, I don't plan to stay for _awhile._" My tone is as cold as the air. "I'm sure President Snow will lift this silly lockdown in a matter of hours. Then, lucky for you, I will be off to the Capitol and out of your hair. That's what you want anyway, isn't it?"

He turns his back to me, the bottle dangling carelessly between the tips of his fingers. I watch him curiously, unsure of what he's doing. Then, only moments later, does he raise the mouth of the bottle to his lips and take another sip.

"There's a room upstairs you can have." He mumbles quietly. "I don't really go in there so maybe it'll be up to your _ standards_."

"Well," I'm a bit taken a back by his rather generous offer a room. For a moment, I was sure he was planning to make me sleep on that filthy couch of his. "Thank you. I'm sure it'll work just find..." And I quickly add, "For the short time period I will be staying here at least."

He grunts in response. "Just don't go making it smell like President Snow's lapel. I have a reputation to uphold." And perhaps it's the light, but for a split second a faint smile appears on his lips only to be masked again by his usual scowl. "I don't own any luxuries, Princess, so don't be expecting anything lavish for breakfast and what not."

"I'm not." I tell him. "By your actions and the appearance of your house,"I nudge what I once think was a nice shirt with the toe of my shoe. "I wasn't expecting much. No offense of course."

"None taken." He sets the empty bottle down and turns to face me. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I see his eyes fixing on my stomach. "I'm sure Viola Everdeen and Hazelle Hawthorne, the woman you saw back there, could help you out some..." He pauses, not lifting his eyes to meet mine. "They aren't certified doctors but they know plenty about kids. They are the best when it comes to this place...maybe even better than your Capitol doctors."

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you."

There's a pregnant pause before Haymitch finally speaks up again. "Well, I suppose I'll let you go off to bed." He reaches down and retrieves another bottle from the floor, opening it in a matter of seconds. "It's getting late and from what Katniss tells me, you enjoy getting up earlier than most people." He takes a large swig, draining a third of the bottle. "Unfortunately, I'm not up at that hour so I hope you have trained yourself to get up at your specified time."

I never really understood why he didn't go to sleep at night. I can't say that I haven't offered him many a sleeping pill in the years we've known each other but he doesn't seem to want to do anything about his insomnia...or whatever is going on with him. But I decide that it's not the time or place to question his sleeping habits, merely nod in response to what he has said.

"I'll manage." I assure him before taking a few steps closer to the stairs. "Thank you for your hospitality." And I hadn't meant that as an insult when I said it.

"No need for thanks if there isn't anything to thank for."

He walks off before I can question him what he means by that. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should follow after him. It is, at this hour, he tends to slip into his unreachable state of drunken stupor and becomes even more unpleasant to be around than usual. Deciding it better to leave him for the night, I make my way up the stairs, my feet coming in contact with things I'd rather not think about, and to the bedroom he said I could use.

Cautiously, afraid of what I might find on the other side despite what Haymitch had said, I push the door open. A rather pleasant surprise is what I find behind it. The room, unlike the rest of the house, is practically untouched with the exception of a few balled up pieces of paper here and there. The bed is similar to that of Haymitch's with the exception of white sheets instead of the yellowed ones he has.

Upon closing the door behind me, I walk over to the bed and sit down. The mattress is still firm after all of these years it must've been left in here and the blanket surprisingly soft. Hesitating, I peer at the door once more and after assuring myself that Haymitch wasn't going to come waltzing in, I begin to undress leaving only my undergarment on.

The tiny swell of my stomach catches my eye as I set my clothes into a neat pile on a wooden chest by the foot of the bed. Who would've known that nearly three months ago I would have left Haymitch's household with more than just an undiscussed schedule? That as I sit here in his house, his child is growing inside me, only now the size of a green olive but growing rapidly as the days pass. My hand absentmindly goes to rest on barely visible apex of my stomach, my thoughts wandering with questions as I lay back underneath the rather thin cover of the bed.

What do I wish for this child? I am unsure. Perhaps for her to be healthy, happy, to at least have good manners and be proper as my mother taught me and her mother did before her. I don't know much about being a mother nor am I sure that I do well with small children. I think of Daisy and Pansy, the two little girls back in District Eleven, and how the latter of the two was truly frightened of me. Am I a scary person? I never had to consider such a thing until now. Would my child be like Pansy? Terrified of me? And I would be lying if I said the thought didn't make me ill to my stomach.

And then there is Haymitch. Again, the thoughts of his paternal instincts travel to my mind, plaguing it over and over again. He's a strong man, I'll give him credit for that, but it takes far more than that to be a father. A drunk. A man who sleeps with a knife. There were so many things that he did, how he acted that I fear could scare a child both physically and mentally. What if the child were to startle him while he slept with that dreaded dagger? There is only so much makeup can hide. But, I feel that maybe somewhere deep within himself he would try to change. Try his best to make accommodation for this child. He promised to keep her alive, or do his best anyway.

Curling up underneath the comforter in an attempt to keep warm, I close my eyes trying to bring on the much needed sleep my body craves. But it's harder than it seems. Throughout the night, the cold draft wakes me up again and again, plaguing my body with tremors as I try desperately to keep warm. If this is how most people in District Twelve live, then I completely understand now why they do not ever attempt to groom or remove their excess limb hair in such. And has horrible as it is to think about, I slightly wish that I, like them, had body hair to keep me warm too even if it is very much frowned upon in the Capitol's fashion statement for women of such high standards as myself.

There's a moan as the bedroom door slowly swings open and my heart immediately begins to beat faster. Something or someone is walking into the room, their steps slightly offbeat with one another. I don't even have to turn my head to see who it is. By the smell lingering, it's none other than Haymitch. The question is, why is he in my room? Immediately, I shut my eyes tightly praying that he'll just disappear and not come any closer to me. I was not dressed appropriately and though it wouldn't be the first time he'd have seen me like this, the thought still mortifies me.

I can hear him breathing as he stands over me. Feel his eyes burning into the back of my neck as he stares at me. Moments pass before I hear him stumble off out of the room. My chest rises as I take a deep gulp of air unaware that I was holding my breath while he was in here. I hesitate, blinking in the darkness wondering if I should go and lock the door when I hear the footsteps coming closer once more. Once again, I squeeze my eyes shut as the sound of Haymitch's footsteps fill my ears. I lay perfectly still truly frightened as to why he had come back into the room.

Suddenly, I feel him laying something over top of me and it takes but a second to realize what it is. A blanket. The shivers that my body is giving off slowly cease as the warmth from the extra blanket spreads throughout my body. My muscles relax and the extra push towards sleep starts to wash over me. The footsteps of Haymitch grow distant as I hear him walk out of the room, shutting the door behind him as he goes. My body starts to slip into unconscious as I wonder what on Panem made him come into my room in the first place. Was he checking up on me? Whatever the reason was, one thing is for sure, I would make sure to thank him in the morning for the extra blanket.

**This chapter is a tad shorter than most but I really wanted to get an update up and so I stayed up extra late trying to do so. Next chapter (or rather, within the next chapter) some time will be passing so Effie will be further along than nine weeks by the end of the next chapter. I won't say that she'll be incredibly far, rather, she'll start to be showing a lot more than she is now. It'll make more sense next chapter. Anywho, please do review! I have such a craving for reviews at the moment. Perhaps if my craving is satisfied, I'll get to the next chapter tomorrow rather than writing one every other day like I have been. Hope you enjoyed!-Jen**


	14. Acquiring Tastes

**First off I'd like to apologize again and again. You guys were so wonderful and I failed you. Here's what happened. Now, I usually type up each chapter on the fanfiction's Doc Manager because I find it easier to access at school and such. So, yesterday, I was sitting in front of my computer trying to figure out how to start this new chapter and after awhile ideas started coming to mind and I began typing. Halfway through, I believe I had a 1000 or so words when I decided that maybe now would be a good time to save. You know, just in case it decided to delete. Well, at that moment I hit save, I guess I didn't realize my internet had crashed or something along those lines so my webpage went immediately to the "Network Unavailable" screen. I was horrified, and when I finally managed to get my router (and I think that's what it is. I'm not too good with computer terminology) working again, I discovered that it hadn't saved my work. Well, I became very distraught and my brain went to mush when I tried to rewrite what I had written. Ultimately, around midnight, I decided to call it quits for the night and just post the next day because I wasn't going to get a good chapter out while my brain was mush. So again, I am so sorry for the belated update. I'm going to be more careful so this mistake does not happen again.**

**Secondly, thank you so much LTree16, Savysnape7, thepotionsmaster7, American Fantasy, NaomiBlue, TheGirlWhoWasOnFire21, Joshissmexy92, Karen, Count Fagula, MissEffieTrinket, Rippl, 2B-ingus4once, Firing Rockets on Dragons, PhoenixRisingOnTheMoon, DangerousD, OliviaMellark, TwiHarInk113, Elven Heart993, HB rules, writingisacurse, JaelynJae, PriscilaOrglene, Aurelei, Ember Belli, Adessa101, cato, and GhibliGirl91 for the extremely kind and inspiring reviews you gave for the last chapter (I apologize if your username had a period(s) in it. Fanfiction made me delete them because they think they are websites or something.). Your reviews help motivate me when working on the new chapters and making sure I update often. Anywho, here is chapter fourteen.  
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Chapter fourteen: Acquiring Tastes

No light is shining through my window when I wake up. The blizzard, which I can only assume is still raging outside, has completely covered the glass in a thick white coating. Just thinking about how cold it must be out there is almost tempting enough to keep me buried underneath the two blankets that lay over top of me. Finally, after much determination on my part, I find the will to slide out from underneath the warm covers and touch the icy floor with my bare feet. It's not a pleasant feeling at all, but I convince myself to dress quickly-unfortunately in my previous day's outfit-in hopes that once I'm in thicker clothes I'll be warmer.

I'm unsure of what to expect when I walk down the old, creaking wooden stairs. Most likely I'll be greeted by the unconscious figure of Haymitch lying motionless in some desolate corner equipped with an empty liquor bottle from his previous night's activities. It wouldn't be the first time nor, I'm sure, the last.

The stench of mold and liquor fumes that, by some miracle, didn't plague the atmosphere of my room, meet me at full force as soon as both of my feet touch the bottom step. A hand immediately flies to my mouth blocking my nose and mouth as the threat of vomiting churns in my unsettled stomach. If I am forced to stay here much longer, there will be drastic changes made in the upkeeping of this place.

I nudge aside a pile of discarded laundry as I make my way towards the living room. How someone can live in such filth I am unsure of. After all of these years, Haymitch has had to of have grown use to the smell and immune to whatever horrid bacteria lurk in the unwelcoming trash that accumulates on his floors. The vileness of it is almost tempting enough to make one decide upon staying out in the snow. At least there the smell would be unreachable. That is, if one has a nose after standing out in the cold for so long.

Something sticking up on the floor causes me to stumble forward nearly loosing my balance. It's not until I finally catch myself that I see what I tripped over is a foot. A foot connected to the still body of Haymitch who lays half hanging off the couch fast asleep. My tripping over him merely makes him grunt in his sleep before shifting light, his legs sliding more off of the couch. My frown down at him, adjusting my wig that has slid forward over my forehead. You would think the man would have the decency to wake up when someone tripped over him. Especially since once, during the 72nd Hunger Games I merely brushed against his hand while walking past his unconscious form in the dining car and he proceeded to wake right up and slash violently at me with his dreaded knife. Fortunately, he came to his senses in time before harm came to anything besides my poor plum crocodile leather handbag. I'll never forgive him for that either. That bag was one of a kind.

My stomach rumbles with hunger and I realize that it's been hours since I've eaten. Glancing towards the kitchen I see to my dismay that not even a single loaf of bread sits on the small counter top. With the storm as bad as it is, Peeta must've not been able to make it. Though Haymitch had mentioned last night not to expect an fancy meal, I'm still very disappointed by the fact that there is not even a slice of bread awaiting to be consumed by me. The corners of my mouth twitch into a frown as I look to the window unable to see outside due to the storm. There would be no making it to the Everdeens' for me. I, unlike most people in this district, am unaccustom to walking in such weather. Nor are any of my clothes made for such occasions.

An idea comes to mind that if I wasn't as hungry as I am, I probably would've shrugged the thought away in an instant. Perhaps somewhere lurking in the depths of Haymitch's fridge is some sort of edible substance that, if cooked properly, can be consumed. I don't see anyway around it. With Haymitch as drunk as he is and this storm as heavy, the would be absolutely no way of either of us getting any food unless I cook it. Taking a deep breath, I carefully step over Haymitch's feet and proceed to the kitchen.

Now, as a child my mother was quite the cook. Dinner parties weren't uncommon in my household and very often my mother made every dish served at them. She had a way of expressing herself through her cooking and some of my finest memories of my earlier childhood are of getting to indulge in a slice of her warm peach pie the day the fresh fruits were delivered from District Eleven. Unfortunately, her gift of cooking is not something I inherited and when, after much digging, find a carton of eggs that seem questionably edible, I have absolutely no idea what to do. If only Peeta were here, perhaps he could be of great assistance.

In the Capitol, I always found myself dining at the restaurants around the City Circle and never once had I ever bothered to learn how to cook. With the wealth I had earned from my parents after they passed and the salary I received as an escort, I never saw the need to eat at hope. Therefore, I never bothered with such silly things as pots and pans. Come to think of it, I am not sure if I even own them. Thankfully, I do know what they look like and thus begin to scoot Haymitch's kitchen for them. I find a rusted pan underneath several sheets of what looks like wet newspaper and after rinsing it off numerous times, I place it on the stove and discover how to turn on the heat.

Not long after cracking the eggs in the pan, they begin to turn a rather distasteful golden brown inside. I whisk them quickly, trying my best to recover from my mistake of letting them sit too long. The golden brown slowly sizzles into a dull gray as black smoke wafts up into the air creating a most unpleasant smell of burning. I find myself coughing, the smoke causing tears to form in my eyes as I dump the glob of eggs onto a nearby plate in hopes that perhaps I salvaged them by this quick act.

"What's dead?"

The unsuspected voice causes me to jump around. In the doorway stands the slightly hunched over figure of Haymitch. His eyes are bloodshot and by the looks of things, he is not at all excited about being awake at this hour.

"I made breakfast." I say simply as I pull another plate from the metal rack on the counter. "Would you like some?"

His eyebrows raise but he doesn't seem at all phased by the mess I have created in his kitchen. "And again," he mumbles, "I shall ask. What's dead?"

And I realize he is making fun of my cooking. I don't know why I take so offensive to this-perhaps it's my hormones-but I frown deeply, glaring at him through the clouded air as the smoke disperses.

"Well, I never said I could cook!" I retort defensively. "You have absolutely no food in this house! Which, I might add, is completely rude when you have guests staying with you. What else was I supposed to do? Starve?" I places the second plate rather roughly back in the rack. The clash it makes against the metal causes Haymitch to wince slightly. "Fine, if you don't want any then all you had to do was say 'No thank you, Effie. I am very content at this time but your offer is very kind'. Is that so difficult to say?"

"Those pills I've seen you take don't do anything for your hormones do they?" I watch as he walks sluggishly to the rack and pulls out the plate I just took back. "Give me the spatula." He huffs, rolling his eyes as he holds out his hand. "_Please." _I hand him it and watch with surprise as he scoops a small pile of eggs onto his plate. "Here." He mumbles handing it back to me. "Thanks for the god damn eggs. Maybe next time you won't nearly burn down my kitchen."

He begins to walk off but I clear my throat to stop him. The least he could do as my host is to sit down and have breakfast with me. His shoulders rise as he inhales sharply, turning to face me with a look of annoyance visible on his face. I used to not mind when he went to be all by his lonesome but lately I had began to crave his company as unpleasant as he tends to be.

"Aren't you going to sit down with me?" I ask, nodding towards the table. "It's the polite thing to do."

"I'm eating the garbage you made for breakfast. Isn't that enough?" But he takes a seat anyway.

We sit in silence for a few minutes trying to choke down the rubbery dried lumps of egg that seem to have a knack for not wanting to wash down one's throat. After I manage to consume half of my plate, I take a sip of water and clear my throat.

"I just wanted to thank you for the extra blanket you gave me last night." I say dabbing at the corners of my mouth with my napkin. "I very much appreciate it."

"Mm." Is all he says without bothering to look up. "Didn't want to have to explain your frozen corpse to the locals is all."

"You have _quite _the way with words." I wait for him to respond but he doesn't. "Can you give ever give a compliment that isn't snide in anyway?"

He pauses for a moment. "Your eggs aren't as bad as they smell." And he proceeds to eat a mouthful.

We're silent again as breakfast is soon finished up. I see no sign of Haymitch planning to do the dishes so, I take it upon myself to take up the plates. It will probably be the first time any of his eating utensils and such are properly cleaned.

"Perhaps by the time this storm clears up this lockdown will be lifted." I scrub at the crusted food on the plates as the hot water scalds my hands. It reminds me of washing off a very difficult face mask. "And I can return to the Capitol."

"Highly unlikely, Princess." I hear his chair scoot against the floor as he stretches. "This New Head seems to be like the man who will make sure something does not happen again. I wouldn't be surprised if President Snow ordered him to create a brick wall around Twelve.''

"That seems rather drastic." I reply, nudging the faucet off with my elbow. "I highly doubt this Peacekeeper and Snow would do something as silly as that just because of some boy poaching a turkey."

"There's more than just the turkey going on, Princess. And Twelve isn't the only place it's happening."

I set the plates down and turn to look at him. "What do you mean?" I ask worriedly, "Haymitch, I feel as if you, Peeta, and Katniss are keeping things from me and I must say that even though I respect your privacy, it truly is starting to bother me with all of the secrets. Don't you think I have a right to know?"

"It's safer that you don't." And his eyes are on my midsection, "Some things are better left unsaid. For means of protection."

Protection? Once again he's talking of something that I don't understand. What could I possibly need protecting from? But the way I see him eyeing my stomach I soon decide that maybe it's not just me he's referring too. The baby. Somehow he seems to have convinced himself that this child growing inside of me is in danger and that even I cannot know the full reason why. All I know is that whatever it is that's bothering him seems to be involving all of Panem and the Capitol government. If only he'd help me to understand, maybe I could ease his worry about everything that troubles him. But, once again, he seems to go off into his own mind when I attempt to ask him.

There is one thing that I am wrong about that he turns out to be right. When the blizzard clears, the lockdown is not lifted and instead the whole district is being punished to the extreme over the mistake of one boy who illegal poached a turkey. It makes absolutely no sense to me. Perhaps there is a mistake in what the President ordered but as I wait for this wrong to be righted, nothing of the sort ensues. Days turn into weeks as the mines remain closed and all access to the outside world is kept out. And though I have tried, I am unable to get any sort of my Capitol attire mailed to me from my home.

Does the Capitol not realize what is happening? That there are citizens starving? That there is no work, no money that can be used to purchase food? There has to be a mistake. They have to lift the lockdown soon. People are dying but more importantly to me, Haymitch's liquor stash is slowly depleting and a new nightmare begins to unfold.

**So, by next chapter I'm going to put Effie at about sixteen to seventeen weeks pregnant. Meaning that next chapter, for those who have been waiting, there will be more baby interaction/talk/etc. between Effie and Haymitch (and some exciting occurrences involving such things). Hopefully I didn't make this chapter seem too rushed or (and I worry) boring (I sort of finished this redone chapter super late so if there's typos and things, I'll go back and fix them because at the moment I'm half asleep). I really wanted to have a chapter where Effie attempted to cook and failed horribly at it. Anywho, please do review and let me know what you think and such. I always love many reviews to get me motivated in writing and the big number I received from last chapter seriously got me pumped and made sure that I didn't put this off hold.-Jen**


	15. Seeing Through the Cracks

****I apologize for the delay in updating. I meant to update last night, but something came up and unfortunately, I had to put updating on hold until I took care of what needed to be done. Thank you so much** **Jay, DangerousD, MissEffieTrinket, TheGirlWhoWasOnFire21 , Savysnape7, NaomiBlue, Joshissmexy92, HB rules, American Fantasy, Firing Rockets on Dragons, PhoenixRisingOnTheMoon, OliviaMellark, TwiHarInk113, LTree16, PresidentTheAwesome, Nekkuu, Lollipop Child, anon, Blinkandyoullmissit, Ember Belli, Connortemple4evaneva, Aurelei, MarigoldxObsidian, cato, AK, and gsbtxvn34 for your kind and very motivating reviews. It means a lot to know you guys are enjoying the story. And, in case anyone is ever curious as to if I'm working on an update or not, feel free to check my DeviantART page (you can find links to pictures on my fanfiction profile page and go from there) because you can write journal entries on there and I usually post an entry saying that I'm currently typing up a new chapter and what not. Anywho, without further ado, here's chapter fifteen.****

Chapter fifteen: Seeing Through the Cracks

From where I sit in the dining room, I can hear Hazelle, who I only learned just a week ago when Katniss convinced Haymitch to hire her, was the woman who pushed past me the night Gale, her son, had be taken to the Everdeens' residence after enduring a rather harsh punishment for the poaching of a single turkey, upstairs cleaning. Having her come by a few times a day is the one of the few comforts I have experienced these past few months in Twelve.

Since my start of this stay, I have yet to venture out of the house much. Ever since the lockdown, the Everdeens' household has been filled with sickly children and wounded citizens of which seem to come by the dozens each day. Even though the mines have been opened for a few good weeks since they originally had been shutdown, the ratio of starving citizens to those who are fed has not changed at all. And even those who have the money to buy fresh foods are unable to due to the fact that the importation of goods has still yet to be reopened in Twelve. The frightening part is that it's not just food and other articles of importance such as my clothing that aren't being allowed in. No, it's something that I never thought I would ever been concerned about. Liquor.

Carefully, I stand up from the chair I'm sitting in and make my way to the opening that leads to the living room. I have to squint to get a good look inside. The curtains are drawn shut to keep out whatever light tries to come in. The floor, even after Hazelle's usual rounds, is littered with shattered bottles that seem to become fewer and fewer each day. Though, it's the still figure on the couch that grabs my attention. No light is needed for me to see, to imagine what he looks like. Yellow skin, bloodshot eyes accompanied by dark circles, and the ever trembling hands. Haymitch. But not the man whom I've known for years. A different man, one who has night terrors that bring out screams, words that should never be said. And though I've tried to go and comfort him in the dead of night, my attempts are greeted by snarls, snaps of anger that flare at my near presence.

Peeta and Katniss visit when they can with whatever rations of liquor they have chosen to bring that day. No one dares keep the supply in the house in fear that Haymitch will finish it off and none will be left. When they give him his daily dose, sometimes they stay and make small talk with me. He doesn't seem interested in joining in even though we've attempted several times to engage him. Peeta tells me not to take it personally. That he isn't angry at me or anyone for that matter. That it'll get better once the lockdown is lifted completely. And I don't. I actually pity Haymitch and wish with all my might that he'd let me help him. But all he does is such me out and nothing but the burning taste of liquor can penetrate his silence.

"Effie?"

The sound of Hazelle's voice catches me by surprise. I spin around and see her standing but a few feet away from me, arms wrapped around a wicker basket brimming with soiled laundry. Her eyes flash to my stomach for a split second-as everyone's seem to do now a days when I began to show more- before traveling back up to meet my gaze.

"I'm sorry," She apologizes quickly, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, no. It's quite alright." I assure her, "I guess that I'm just a little on edge today."

She nods as she places the basket on a nearby chair. "How is he?" Her voice is soft as she looks towards the dark room.

My eyes follow her gaze. "He hasn't moved."

It's as if he doesn't even know where talking about him. Surely he can hear us. But Haymitch doesn't even flinch as we converse about him. Perhaps it wouldn't worry me so if he had been sleeping. But sleep is something that he rarely does anymore. And perhaps it's because I don't have as many responsibilities as I normally do in the Capitol, I find myself fretting over him quite frequently.

Hazelle gives a nod and her eyes fall to my stomach once more. No longer can my clothes-which have grown so tight and since I cannot order any new outfits at the moment, I have resorted to using pins to hold together the cloth that a zipper used to be able to zip-conceal my protruding stomach. I can't hide the fact that I am expecting nor do I really bother to try to. Everyone is too busy being concerned about themselves and their families to question this new life growing inside of me or it's father for that matter. Those who take the slightest interest are the Everdeens' occasionally, Hazelle, Peeta, and I believe Haymitch to a certain extent.

"And how are you?" Are the words that come out of Hazelle's mouth after a few moments pause. "Feeling, I mean."

"I'm doing fine. I can't complain really. Though, it would be nice if my shipment of clothes would be allowed in. I know Portia must be trying to send them since learning of my stay in Twelve." My hand travels down to the small bulge of my stomach and rests there. "But hopefully all will clear up at the Capitol soon and this silly lockdown will be lifted. I'm sure they, the Capitol, must be very busy at the moment, what with the Quarter Quell and all. I'm sure President Snow will be horrified when he learns about the condition of the citizens of Twelve."

"I have some dresses if you'd like to borrow them." She offers, not seeming to want to delve into the topic of the Capitol's outlook on the lockdown any deeper. "They aren't exactly fashionable but they do their job."

Fashion. The last little tie I had to the Capitol while staying here. Though my current clothes are dreadfully uncomfortable, I really rather keep them than wear something of low standards that Twelve offers. I politely shake my head no hoping deep inside my mind that soon I'll be able to get new outfits before I am forced to resort to Hazelle's hand-me-downs.

"No thank you." I say, the corners of my mouth twitching into a smile. "But your offer is very kind. I much appreciate it, much appreciate everything you have done as a matter of fact."

She gives me a warm smile, pleased by my gratitude. "The offer still stands if you are ever in need." Her head turns as she glances behind her. "The sun is beginning to go down. I'm sure the kids'll be wondering where I am." She turns back to me, her lips still upturned. "I was thinking I'd cook broth tonight. For you and Haymitch I mean before I go." She pauses, slight hesitation in her next words. "I thought it would be something that he could get down easy."

Something that he could get down easy. The words caused a strange tightness in my chest. There is more than one type of starving going on in Twelve. The most common type is those who can't afford to feed themselves. The other, those who choose not to eat. Haymitch is the latter. It's a good day when we, meaning Peeta, Katniss, and I, can get him to eat a slice of bread. That is, if we have the payment of liquor present. Other days, I'll leave a bowl of stew out for him and when I come down the next morning, it'll be in the same spot untouched. Never did I ever figure that his consumption of alcohol would play such a large role in his livelihood.

"Broth would be lovely. Thank you, Hazelle."

She gives a nod towards the stove. "I'll get started then. Thankfully you don't need much to make broth." And she walks off to the stove before I can get anther word in.

My eyes flicker back to the room. Back to the motionless figure on the couch. Should I go and talk to him? Or, try to at least? I have no idea what emotional state he is in right now. Neither Katniss nor Peeta showed up today with their usual delivery of liquor and I can only imagine what feelings-physical and emotional-must be bubbling up inside of him. The slightest thing could set him off ending with me in an injured state. But, whatever power possesses me to do so, I go in.

He doesn't even look at me when I pull a chair close to him, too anxious to bother sitting beside him on the couch. I clear my throat contemplating what to say next as my eyes focus on his right hand that trembles too close for comfort next to his knife. I can't say that we have grown close since my staying in his household these past few months. Nor can I say we've grown distant. I have though, in my lack of Capitol concerning things, have taken it upon myself to watch over him since there is nothing better for me to do.

"I hope you like broth." I finally say, "Because that's what's being served for dinner. And I think you'll be glad to know that it isn't me making it. Hazelle is. And if you'd try her cooking, you'd be-"

"I'm not hungry."

The words escape in a raspy tone and it takes a minute for me to realize it was him speaking.

"Well, that may be but-"

And he cuts me off again, his breathing frighteningly shallow as he speaks again.

"I said, I'm not hungry."

"You haven't had anything to eat all day." Why I'm pushing this argument further I do not know. It's a very dangerous approach when dealing with an unstable Haymitch Abernathy. But, in the past, I've been able to get him to do things he does not normally do and perhaps that maybe I can do the same now. "At least have a couple of bites. Humor me."

A low chuckle crackles from his mouth that causes a shiver to run down my spine. "Since when have I ever felt the urge to humor you, Princess?"

"Well, if you don't want to do it for me, then do it for Katniss and Peeta. After all, they do go to the trouble to bring you that alcohol when they can. The least you could do is eat." I can hear the sizzling from the other room as Hazelle cooks and smell whatever flavor broth she's making wafting in. Haymitch, however, does not seem the least bit phased nor shows any interest in what she's doing.

"You could put that food to better use." He replies quietly, his tone on the verge of cold. "I'm sure there are plenty of starving kids outside who'd appreciate it. Or, do you still think your Capitol is going to come to everyone's aid?"

_Don't take it personally. _I shift uncomfortably where I sit, the fabric of my blouse clinging to my swelling stomach. For the first time in awhile, I feel his eyes fixing on my midsection, peering at it through the dim light that leaks in from the kitchen.

"I'm seventeen weeks." I say quietly, "Though, I haven't been able to see Mrs. Everdeen about it." I could but I choose not too. I'm still sickened by the images that lurk in her household. How Katniss and Prim can handle it, I will never know. "But Hazelle says that if I haven't had any problems then I must be in good shape so far."

"Congratulations, Princess." His voice is dripping with sarcasm but he does not lift his eyes away. "You must be very proud."

"Well, I can't complain." There's the soft sploosh of liquid hitting ceramic as Hazelle ladles the broth into what I'm guessing is two bowls. "I'll go get dinner."

"I'm not eating."

But I ignore his words as I stand up and make my way back into the kitchen where I find Hazelle equipped with her usual laundry basket. A sympathetic smile is present on her lips as she peers towards the living room. Obviously she overheard my conversation with Haymitch.

"There's more in the pot." She nods towards the stove, "I'll be back tomorrow around my usual time. If there's anything you need, I'm sure the Everdeens and Peeta would be more than happy to help." She gives a strange nod of her head as she shifts the basket in her arms, freeing one hand so that it can open the door. "Good night, Effie, and..." She pauses, leaning half way out the door, "Good luck."

She disappears before I have a chance to bid her farewell. My eyes travel to the stove after a few moments of staring at the door wishing secretly she'd come back. Two bowls, brimming with a pale tan broth beckon me over. It's not a hearty meal but it's food and my mother always told me never to complain about that. Gingerly, after sliding a spoon into each bowl, I lift them up and bring them into the living room. Normally, I am one to sit at the table but there would be no compromising with Haymitch when it came to such things as both eating and eating properly.

"Are you really that air-headed to not understand the simple phrase 'I'm not hungry'?" He grumbles as I set down a bowl beside him, doing my best to not let his words get to me.

"Maybe the lockdown will be lifted so the planning for Katniss and Peeta's wedding can proceed." I say in the high hopes it'll spark a conversation. "Wouldn't that be nice? And perhaps Cinna and Portia will be able to come around. That would be lovely to see them again, wouldn't it?"

"I don't know what's worse," He's spinning his spoon around in the broth, "Having no alcohol or being forced to listen to you."

I swallow hard. His words are really starting to get to me and with my emotions on the fritz, it's taking every ounce of energy not to lose it. To occupy myself, I eat a large spoonful of broth and swallow. It's hot going down, leaving a dirty aftertaste and I'm afraid to question what exactly it is I'm eating. I haven't even bothered to look at what ingredients she could've possible chosen from in the fridge.

"Well, I'm sorry I bother you so." The words come out slightly choked towards the end. "I just want to help."

"I don't need _your _help. I've gotten along just fine by myself." He stops stirring his broth and looks at me. "I was, I mean, until your Capitol took away all of my goddamn liquor."

"And that is my fault?" I say becoming a little defensive. "It wasn't me who did that! Just because I'm from the Capitol doesn't mean I did this! And I would take it kindly if you'd stop blaming me for everything, Haymitch Abernathy." The threat of tears sting my eyes as I shovel another spoonful of broth past my lips, ignoring that it's not at all dainty to do so.

"Don't cry." He mumbles, "The last thing I need for you to do is start wailing and wake up half of Twelve." But his voice has soften slightly, no longer edged with cold hatred.

"I'm not going to." I say quietly, blotting at my eyes with a nearby napkin. "Ladies don't cry." But the tears begin to steam down my cheeks anyway and I can't help but let out a few shaky breaths as I try to control myself.

"Dammit, Princess." He groans quietly and I hear him shifting where he sits. "Here."

To my surprise, despite the annoyance in his voice, he's holding out another napkin towards me. I take it out of his trembling hand with mine, trying not to look at the waxy tone of his unhealthy skin. And as I blow my nose, the tears seem to fall harder, rolling off of my cheeks into my bowl.

"I'm...I'm sorry..." I choke out, "My emotions c-can't seem to be stable a-at this point in t-time." He's holding out another napkin-where he got it, I'm unsure of-but I take it. "I must look a-awfully silly."

I peer up at him waiting for him to make some snide comment but he doesn't. Instead, I watch as he lifts up his spoon and slowly eats a spoonful of broth. It almost looks painful for him as he swallows it but again, he lifts the spoon to his lips and takes another mouthful. Is this his attempt in trying to make me feel better? Did he feel guilty for making me cry?

"What are you looking at?" He grumbles, and I quickly avert my eyes.

"T-thank you for the napkins." I sniff, finally able to cease my tears. "I...I..."

"Appreciate it. I know, Princess." And now I think he's finally found the will to feel hungry as I did to stop crying. He's finished half his bowl of broth in the amount of time I spent crying. "Just...don't start crying again. That's the last thing I need right now." And the words almost come out pleading. "I have a long night ahead of me since Katniss and Peeta can't seem to find the time to bring my damn _ration _over." His spoon clinks against the empty bottom of his bowl. "I'd go myself but my legs don't seem to wanna move."

I wonder if I should offer to go and get it for him. Then again, I'd back out as soon as I got three feet from the Everdeens' doorstep and as for Peeta's, I really am in no state to walk several houses down in this sort of weather. Though Winter is almost over, the weather has yet to be nothing but snowy and I can just see me slipping in an ungodly patch of ice. So I stay silent.

We sit in quiet for what seems the longest time. About what I think is twenty minutes in, the most peculiar sensation hits me. Deep within me something stirs. It's the feeling like small bubbles popping or the soft flutter of butterfly wings. It's barely noticeable but it's there. And after a few minutes of wondering if Hazelle's broth is disagreeing with me, I come to a new conclusion.

"Haymitch!"

The words come out rather anxious sounding and he seems jump a little at my urgency.

"What? What is it?" He's looking around as if expecting to see something or someone but I know there is no one there.

"I felt something." I whisper, my hand traveling over my stomach. "She moved." Though I find that my hand can't yet feel the fluttering that I feel inside.

"She moved?" It takes him a second but I see the understanding of it fill his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," And I actually laugh a little. I can't help it but a strange overwhelming sense of joy fills me. How strange this all is. "I'm sure."

And for the first time, in a long time, his lips twitch into a smile. A real smile. And I watch him, a part of me wanting to take it in like one does the beauty of a rainbow before it disappears completely.

"I guess," He says after a few moments. His smile long faded. "After all of these years, I still can feel surprised."

But I know what he means. Not surprised. But happy. After all of these years, all of these hardships others have talked about him being through, he feels happiness. The long lost desire everyone wishes to have. And even though with our current situation. Even though I know in just a few hours time he'll be completely lost to the world and in another terrifying fight with his mind. I cannot help but share this moment of happiness with him.

Even if it, like a rainbow, is only here for just a short while.

**I wanted for them to have a special moment when their child first moved (even though it's still too early for anyone to feel it by touching Effie's stomach). Hm... I feel like having Portia and Cinna coming up soon. I dunno? What do you guys think? Should I have them show up soon? Just an afterthought of mine as I write this author's note. Anywho, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I have a lot planned especially with the approaching Quarter Quell. Two words, that's all I'll say. President Snow. Should you be frightened? Perhaps... Anywho, please do review! It'll help me crank out the next chapter faster and thus bring you closer in finding out exactly why I just mentioned President Snow.-Jen**


	16. Supposed Happier Occasions

**Take four of rewriting this chapter. Sorry guys, I know it's been a few days but I just have been trying to figure out how to write this chapter. In a different note...Hooray! This story is now over 300 reviews! Thank you so much American Fantasy, MissEffieTrinket, Anonymous568, Savysnape7, Joshissmexy92, nekkuu, Allyson Kat, LTree16, cateyes8588, GhibliGirl91, Tenille D, Idiot, OliviaMellark, DangerousD, grump, Firing Rockets on Dragons, anon, Lollipop Child, anon, anon, Madelyn, HB rules, writingisacurse, cato,TwiHarInk113, Blinkandyoullmissit, fludernutter01, Morzan's Elvish Daughter, Ember Belli, Adessa101, liongirl356, thegoofybookworm, shesetfiretothegames, and Aurelei for your helpful, kind, and as always, inspiring reviews! I cannot thank you enough for all of the wonderful support I recieve with each chapter I post. Anywho, here's chapter sixteen. (Oh yes, and please read the author's note at the end of this chapter. I have some romance ideas and chapter things I'd like to discuss.)**

Chapter sixteen: Supposed Happier Occasions

Yesterday becomes a distant memory as the morning comes far too soon for my liking. The rays of sunlight beam through the window appearing even brighter as they dance off the ice crystals blanketing the frosty windowpane. The glare causes me to squint. My eyes unused to the radiant glow that the night so often lacks. If I were in my home back in Capitol, a simple clap would send the blinds of my windows closing. But here in District Twelve, in the Victor's Village, no such technology is present and after a few moments of being blinded by the light, I force myself up and out of bed.

The floor feels icy against my bare feet as I make my way towards the window, drawing the thick curtain I must've forgotten to close the night before, shut. As much as I crave to crawl back underneath the warm covers and fall back asleep, I can't. I may be trapped here in Twelve, but I will surely not succumb to their lazy ways. Or rather, the lazy ways of Haymitch Abernathy. The day has begun whether I like it or not and as the fine lady I am, pregnant or not pregnant, I must great it with a smile and the proper attitude.

My stomach growls as I walk into the small bathroom that attaches to my room, and my room only. My appetite, like my swelling stomach, grows as the weeks pass and I decide on taking a quick shower in the hopes that once I'm finished, I'll find that Hazelle has breakfast waiting downstairs. The few minutes I spend underneath the hot spray of water are enough to pull me from my sleepy state. I wash my hair with what little shampoo and conditioner I have left from the Victory Tour before stepping out and heading back to the bedroom to dress myself in an outfit that I've unfortunately had to wear four times this stay.

Cautiously, make my way down the steps unsure of what I will find. Possibly broken appliances scattered across the floor. Floorboards scarred with knife marks. There's no telling what occurred since Haymitch had no liquor to ease him last night. Taking a deep breath, I step off onto the ground floor. It's at this moment my heart freezes in fear at what stands in front of me. Something that I wasn't expecting at all. Two Peacekeepers stand side by side, uniforms pressed and white, faces emotionless, and with them stands none other than Haymitch, his face the same as their's. They must've heard me come down for they turn and look towards me.

"Oh good, you're up." Haymitch mutters, not seeming at all phased by the current company. "I was afraid that I was going to have to climb up there and get you." He nods towards the stairs. "A waste of perfectly good energy."

I'm too anxious to bother with his sarcasm. Instead, my attention is focused on both Peacekeepers who watch me silently. Why were they here? Had Haymitch done something horrid last night that brought them to his house? The thoughts of someone under my watchful eyes being in trouble causes my stomach to churn.

"Is she alright?" It's the female Peacekeeper who speaks up. Her voice cold, void of any true sympathy despite her question of concern. "She's gone pale."

"She does that a lot." And I suddenly realize Haymitch has come by my side. His hand takes my forearm as he holds me steady. "Still has yet to adjust to District Twelve." He's looking into my eyes now, a strange tight-lipped smile that's almost a grimace present on his face. "Don't go fainting on us, Princess." But the words almost sound edge with warning as if trying to alert me of something that I am not yet aware of.

It takes me a moment to find my voice. "May I ask what is going on?" The words sound feeble and as my heart pounds with worry, I'm suddenly glad Haymitch is there supporting me.

The male Peacekeeper steps forward, "Peacekeeper Hadrian accompanied by Peacekeeper Perdita on the orders of Head Peacekeeper Thread. We have business to attend to with Katniss Everdeen. Due to a current…" He pauses for a brief moment, "…circumstance, we ask to please join us at the Everdeen Residence."

"That's his polite way of saying it's mandatory, Princess, just in case you decided to decline their _invitation_." His tone drips with sarcasm when he says the last word.

"To the Everdeens'?" I look from either Peacekeeper with confusion, "Has Katniss done something—" But I stop when I feel a sudden pressure on my arm as Haymitch's grip tightens. I turn to look at his face but his expression is still unchanged. Is he trying to stop me from talking?

"We have a message to relay to Katniss from Head Peacekeeper Thread." Peacekeeper Perdita says taking a step towards the door, "That is, we will relay that message when she returns from where ever she is at this time." Slim fingers masked by a white glove grip the door handle, pulling it open with a quick flick of the wrist, "Now if you would please exit and go in the direction of the Everdeen Residence. Your cooperation is much appreciated."

And I'm not even given a chance to protest the fact that my coat is upstairs as Peacekeeper Hadrian escorts Haymitch and me out the door, with Peacekeeper Perdita appearing at his side moments later. We trudge through the snow, the wetness seeping into the slippers I had thankfully put on before leaving from my bedroom previously. Haymitch doesn't let go of me the entire journey to the Everdeens', his grasp keeping me upright as we hit several slippery spots. Several times, I turn and look to him for an answer. Surely he knows something I don't. But his eyes stay focused forward not once breaking contact from his fixation on the Everdeen home.

We are at the Everdeens' doorstep in a matter of a few minutes. The Peacekeepers don't even-much to my horror-bother knocking as they open the door and the four of us shuffle inside. The warmth and the sight that there are no current patients present in the Everdeen home for once are the only things that are relieving to me as we make our way into the living room. I attempt to slide off my wet slippers before entering but a nudge from Peacekeeper Perdita tells me otherwise.

"Good morning, Effie and Haymitch. What a pleasant surprise this is."

Mrs. Everdeen smiles at us strangely but does not seem at all surprised by the two Peacekeepers. Perhaps they visited her before they came to retrieve us? My eyes fall upon the tray of streaming cups of tea she holds in her hands, more than enough for just the occupants of her household.

"I just made tea. I thought that maybe on a day such as this it would be pleasant to drink." She sets the tray down on a nearby table, her eyes lingering for a moment on the two figures who stand motionless behind us before flickering back to Haymitch me. "Why don't you both take a seat?"

Haymitch leads me over to one of the many rocking chairs and though I really don't need him to, he helps me into the chair before sitting in one himself. I take a moment to slide of my slippers now, my feet stinging slightly from the sudden temperature shift.

"I'm glad you're here," says a new voice. "Now I might actually have a partner to play chess with.''

And for the first time, I see, to my surprise, that Peeta is also in the room. He's sitting a few chairs from me, a chessboard placed in front of him. Like Haymitch and Mrs. Everdeen, he also does not seem at all shocked about the presence of the Peacekeepers. At Peeta's words, Haymitch gives a simple nod and turns his chair to face him. The two begin to play chess at once leaving me to watch the Peacekeepers quietly, questions looming in my mind as to what exactly is going.

"And how long do Katniss's errands usual take her?'' Peacekeeper Perdita addresses Mrs. Everdeen who has taken a seat not too far from me, her lap filled with a soft yellow yarn she appears to be using to knit with.

"Well, it all depends." Her eyes don't lift from her knitting needles. "Sometimes it's a few minutes, other times it's hours. It depends on what she's doing."

"Luckily, this is all we are scheduled for today," replies Peacekeeper Perdita, her expression still unreadable. "Hopefully, it won't be too long though. We wouldn't want to take up your time after all." But there is not a single hint of worry nor concern in her words.

There's silence for several minutes with the occasional click of knitting needles or the soft thump of a chess piece that breaks the still atmosphere. A few minutes into this quiet, the Peacekeepers disappear into the kitchen for what I assume is where they plan to relocate their current guarding. I lean back in the rocking chair slightly trying to concentrate on something other than the situation present. Soon it's the soft flutters inside of me that grab my attention. Yesterday was the first time that I had felt her and ever since then-as I learned from lying in bed last night-I can really distinguish her movements only when staying perfectly still. So light, like popping bubbles, but the flutters are there. A sign to me, that this, this child within me is alive.

"Have you thought of any names?"

I turn my head in surprise to find young Prim Everdeen standing by my side. I hadn't even heard her come in but here she stands before me, a soft smile on her face and a tray of what I assume are Peeta's cookies in hand. She places the tray beside the several untouched cups of tea and settles down in a seat beside me. I cannot express how thankful I am to have someone to talk to now.

"No," and strangely I find myself blushing. "We haven't talked about any names."

We. I said 'we' as if Haymitch would actual care about the name of this child. I hadn't even thought of names until Prim had mentioned the idea of them. My eyes flash over to him to find that he's hunched over the chessboard focusing on whatever little game pieces he and Peeta play with. I'll never understand how such a game can be entertaining.

"It'll come eventually." Mrs. Everdeen says quietly, knitting needles clicking with each syllable that escapes from her lips. "It took awhile to decide on Katniss's and Prim's names. Give it time. Sometimes you have to see the child to know what name to give them."

"Apparently Princess here felt the baby move last night." Haymitch says without lifting his eyes from his game.

His statement is so unexpected that even Mrs. Everdeen stops knitting for a moment. It's Prim who finally breaks the silence, her voice filled with an excitement that at the moment I don't even have the will at the moment to pretend to have.

"Really? You did? Oh that's wonderful news, Effie. I'm so happy for you," her eyes quickly flicker over to Haymitch, "Both of you."

"No need to congratulate me, I wasn't the one to feel it." Haymitch mutters, "Probably be awhile before it's strong enough for anyone to feel besides Princess." And perhaps it's due to my lack of sleep but there's almost a hint of disappointment in Haymitch's voice I catch.

"Well, it's still a rather big milestone to hit none the less." Mrs. Everdeen says before the clicks of her needles take over.

And much to my dismay, the silence takes over again and this time it lasts for hours. Even though I'm too anxious to be hungry, I don't decline a cookie when Prim offers me one. Peeta's baking is not something I wish to turn down whether it be because it'd be rude to or that Mrs. Everdeen, but mostly Hazelle, make it clear quite often that it's important to eat in my condition.

It's around late evening when Mrs. Everdeen excuses herself to go and start dinner in the kitchen. My eyes follow her as she disappears into the kitchen, the soft yarn, now almost a blanket, stay seated in her place. As I stare at the blanket, I cannot help but wonder who it's for. Perhaps she plans to use it for a patient. It's at this moment as I ponder about the blanket that Katniss, holding a brown bag that drips with snow, steps into the living room from the kitchen with the Peacekeepers and Mrs. Everdeen standing behind her.

"May we ask where you've been, Miss Everdeen?" Peacekeeper Perdita lips actually turn into a slight frown as she questions Katniss.

"Easier to say where I _haven't_ been." The words come out with a mixture of exhaustion and annoyance as she crosses the room, her eyes flashing from Haymitch to Peeta to me as she sets her bag on the table.

"So where haven't you been?" Haymitch asks sounding unimpressed as he moves one of his pieces on the board. "Enlighten us, Sweetheart."

And I'm lost in a conversation that's about impregnating some goat and misguiding directions as Katniss argues with the group, excluding me, about how she's right about what she heard and they are wrong. During the conversation, Haymitch actually laughs a few times and for once, they seemed to be filled with amusement rather than sarcasm. I envy them all. How could they be so calm and enjoying themselves while I sit here in worry and confusion?

Finally, Peacekeeper Perdita interrupts their fun. "What's in the bag?" She asks sharply, her eyes gazing down at the dripping sack Katniss had tossed earlier onto the table.

My heart begins to pound as Katniss walks over to the bag and opens it. Is whatever's in the sack the reason the Peacekeepers are here? I want to close my eyes so that I don't have to see what horrors lie inside as she tips the contents out onto the table. But to my relief, what falls out isn't harmful at all. Unless, of course, you are one who is highly against bandages and peppermints.

"Oh, good," Mrs. Everdeen steps forward and takes the bandages in her hands. "We're running low on bandages." Her fingers rub the cloth between them before setting the supplies back down on the table.

Peeta is the next to approach. "Ooh, peppermints."

With ease, he opens the bag and pops a few into his mouth. This causes a reaction from Katniss and she attempts to swipe the treats from him. Like a child playing keep-away, he tosses the bag to Haymitch who in turn, grabs an obnoxious handful. I can't say that I'm not slightly amused as he holds out the bag to me, offering me a turn to take some. But, being the better person I am, I decline the offer knowing full well Katniss does not want these eaten by us, and he shrugs before tossing them to a giggling Prim.

"None of you deserves candy!" Katniss snaps, her fists clenched at her side.

A small smile crosses Peeta's face, "What, because we're right?"

He wraps his arms around Katniss and the strangest sound, almost a yelp, escapes from her lips. My eyes quickly meet Haymitch's and for a split second, there is a flash of concern in his gaze. When Peeta quickly adds an apology in about saying Katniss was right and everyone else is wrong, a kiss they share lessens the tension.

"You said you had a message from me?" Katniss asks, her eyes fixed on the Peacekeepers.

"From Head Peacekeeper Thread," Peacekeeper Perdita's voice is cold as she addresses Katniss's question. "He wanted to let you know that the fence surrounding District Twelve will now have electricity twenty-four hours a day."

"Didn't they do that alright?" She asks curiously.

And like Katniss it seems, I must express my confusion too. Besides Hazelle's son, I did not know of anyone else who would break the laws and go out of the fence. Surely Katniss hasn't done so. I think she'd be smart enough to obey the rules. But still, the question as to why they think it important she know about the fence is still curious to me.

"He thought you might be interested in passing this information on to your cousin." Peacekeeper Perdita replies callously.

Katniss gives a smile, "Thank you. I'll tell him. I'm sure we'll all sleep a little more soundly now that security has addressed that lapse."

Katniss gratitude seems to displease the Peacekeepers for they simply nod before exiting, not even bothering to give a word of goodnight. Once the door closes behind them, I find that I'm not the only one looking at Katniss. Suddenly she seems to have grown weaker needing Peeta to help her stand upright.

"What happened?" Peeta asks with eyes filled with concern when she grimaces.

"I slipped and fell." She replies and, with his help, hobbles over to a nearby rocker. "On some ice."

For some reason, the others stare at her in disbelief. I don't see what's so strange about what she said. I myself have slipped several times on the ice out front and if it hadn't been for Haymitch being there each time, I might be in her current condition by now. After a moment, and once Katniss's boots are off, Mrs. Everdeen nods.

"Well I'll take a look and see if anything's broken." She mumbles, her fingers lightly taking a hold of one of Katniss's feet.

"If our presence isn't needed anymore, I'm going to take Princess back to the house before it gets too incredibly dark. If Katniss slipped on ice as agile as she is, there's not telling what'll happen to her." He frowns looking at me before back at the others, "Maybe we'll be seeing you tomorrow if any of you decide to unexpectantly drop by."

"Sorry about the inconvenience today," Mrs. Everdeen says without looking up.

Haymitch simply nods, "Not a problem. Didn't have much planned anyway." He glances down for a moment at my feet, his frown deepening. "Any chance you'd have a pair of boots she could borrow for the walk back?"

"Prim," Mrs. Everdeen doesn't even finish her statement before the young girl exits the room and comes back with the most tattered pair of boots I've ever seen.

"Thanks." Haymitch mutters as he takes them from her, "I'll return them if I remember."

Normally I would be horrified wearing such things but with the current circumstances, I decide that maybe it's best to wear them. After all, it's just for a little while. With Haymitch keeping me steady, I step into the boots finding that they are rather large on me. I look at him, the corners of my mouth nearly twitching into a frown. He raises his eyebrows at me.

"You could always go barefoot..." And I decide not to complain any further after that.

After wishing the Everdeens and Peeta goodnight, we exit the house and trudge through the snow towards Haymitch's house. I find myself gripping onto his arm even though he has a pretty good hold of me as we hit several slick patches. I can see why Katniss got hurt, what with all this ice. It takes longer than it should to get back to his home and unlike the Everdeen household, there's no warmth from a hearth to welcome us once we're inside.

As I take off the boots I want to question him about what happened today. About what he knows that I don't. But there's something in his eyes that tells me not too. I'm not sure how else to describe it other than how one looks when relief washes over them but the thoughts that something worse could've happened still loom over them. Of course, it could be the fact that it's the first time in weeks he's actually been out of the house and he's now exhausted. I decide that tonight, I'll leave him be. No questions.

"Thanks for getting me those boots." I say as he starts to head off towards the living room. "I didn't really want to walk back here in those slippers."

He stops for a moment but does not turn around, "I'm sure someone else would've gotten you some if I hadn't brought in up."

"But they didn't. You did. And for that, I thank you." I glance down at them and give a half smile. "Even if they are the most hideous things in all of Panem."

Surprisingly, this does not get a snide remark from him. Only a simple, emotionless, "Get some sleep, Princess" before walking off.

I watch as he finally disappears out of sight. Most likely going to suck the dregs out of the bottles that lay scattered on the floor. My eyes flicker back to the window where I can barely make out the dim lights of the Everdeen household. Surely Peeta is still there with Katniss. He will most likely stay the night with her and maybe even in the same room. And here I'm left standing here by myself, secretly wishing that the man in the other room would show just a little more compassion, a little more friendliness towards me. My stomach twists with a new feeling. Not one of worry. Not one of sickness.

But one of loneliness.

**Finally! I finished this chapter. I've been so frustrated when writing it I almost got to the point where I gave up completely. But I didn't. Anywho, I'll just say a quick few things about this chapter. One, I may go back and improve the ending. I wasn't too sure how to end it but this is what I came up with. Secondly, in Catching Fire, I know when Katniss comes in after being out in the woods, they are talking in the kitchen but I decided for this story's sake, it'd be in the living room. Thirdly, originally I had it written that the Peacekeepers knew of the pregnancy and a question was brought to my attention about that. So, I went back and did some altering (hopefully what I did makes sense). Um, as for the Peacekeepers not being surprised about Effie staying with Haymitch. I believe they have far more important things to be concerned about than where an escort trapped in a poor district would stay. And anyway, Effie may be showing but she's not huge yet. So when the Peacekeepers saw her, I'm sure it wasn't something that crossed their minds. Although...let's just say after what happened in this chapter, word of a certain something will make it's way sooner or later. Oh yes, there was a bit of conversation in here that I borrowed from Catching Fire (mostly what Katniss said).**

**Cinna and Portia up next chapter. Hm... you know what? I haven't really had much romance between Effie and Haymitch yet... If I get a lot reviews, maybe I'll have a kiss next chapter (insert wink here). **

**Finally, sorry that it took me so long to update. I had a busy week including my first job interview (I feel like it went really well) since now that I'm sixteen it's much easier for me to apply for places and such since where I live that's the normal early age to start looking for jobs (since it's around the time I can get my driver's license). Anyway, I decided I'm going to make myself have (well try very hard, no solid promises) to post three maybe four (or more if I'm lucky) chapters a week depending on my schedule with school and such. So, support is greatly appreciated to keep me on my toes and give me confidence when working on chapters (because seriously, I went back and reread all of last chapter's reviews and they kept me going as I wrote and rewrote this chapter). **

**So, please review! Oh yes, the Quarter Quell announcement will be coming up in just a very few chapters (and I mean a very few). Sorry about any typos and such. I'll go back later probably and fix them.-Jen**


	17. Plans Unbeknownst

**Hey everyone! I am so sorry there hasn't been an update for quite a bit of time now, but here's what happened. My mother thought I needed a little extra motivation to bring a few grades up in school to 'A's so she revoked my television and laptop privileges. As I have proven to be working hard, she has kindly given me an hour a day of computer time which will hopefully be increased when I finish with my exams (another reason for me not having my laptop. I needed to study for some county standardized tests and such.)**

**Thank you so much for the wonderful feedback shesetfiretothegames, nekkuu, fludernutter01, icanhazjoy, DangerousD, cateyes8588, Jay, LTree16, MissEffieTrinket, HB rules, American Fantasy, Rippl, PresidentTheAwesome, Lollipop Child, Firing Rockets on Dragons, PhoenixRisingOnTheMoon, toolazytologin, OliviaMellark, Ember Belli, Allyson Kat, Aurelei, Savysnape7, AnnAddicted, alyssa, Adessa101, Anonymous, DrawingAddict, bmlshoup, PriscilaOrglene, Johissmexy92, cato, TwiHarInk113, Hayffie, YvelissaBlossom, Irishdancer101, writingisacurse, BertieTodd, anon, Dernhild, CriminalMindsChick6, grumpirah, and Aly! Without your reviews, I doubt I'd be writing this much. Your support is the best gift in the world. I'd always like to take a moment to thank those who have done fan art and blogged about this story. I cannot tell you how much my heart leaps for joy when I see this story mentioned somewhere or see pictures done. I literally tear up with joy and gratitude each time! Anywho, as promised, here is chapter seventeen! Oh yes, and I highly recommend you check out this wonderful picture done by the deviantarter nekkuu who made a wonderful illustration for this story. The link to the picture is on my profile page. Her style of Effie and Haymitch is truly amazing and extraordinary.  
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Chapter seventeen: Plans Unbeknownst

Three weeks have passed since the incident with the Peacekeepers. Though it's been quite some time now, I still find myself fretting each morning as I go down the stairs that they will return. I'm not sure why I worry so. It doesn't help my fears however when I awaken one morning to not the bright rays of sunlight seeping through the window, but instead to the frown present on the face of Haymitch Abernathy as he looms over my bed.

Confusion is what hits me first as I squint at him through the darkness trying to decipher if this is a dream or not. This isn't like him, coming into my bedroom at the wee hours of the morning. He never ventures upstairs or even farther than the living room usually. But here he stands over me with his infamous scowl and lack of an explanation. And it's at this moment that fear replaces befuddlement as the realization that maybe my concern about the Peacekeepers returning has been true all along hits me.

"Haymitch," I'm sitting up now, my heart pounding with excitement as I watch him cross over to the closet and extract my robe. "What in Panem-"

He tosses the robe onto the comforter in a single, fluid motion, silencing me for just a moment. My eyes flicker down to it for a split second before flashing back up to him only to find that he now appears to be scanning the floor for something I am not yet aware of. Absentmindly, my hands clutch the soft fabric of my robe as I listen to him grumble quietly to himself, his attention focused on the ground.

"You're going to want to put that on, Princess." He suddenly stops his pacing and stoops down, scooping something up from off the floor. "We have guests."

Though his words come out in an annoyed tone and are not at all hinted with fear, my heart still races on at the mention of the word 'guests'. Guests can mean anything. Friends. Family. Enemies. And when the category of these choices is not specified, it leaves far too much worry, too much stress on the mind. For all I know, the entire Panem Army is sitting down in Haymitch's living room waiting to take us both into custody.

"Guests?" The word comes out meekly as my hands twist at the fabric they hold nervously. "Whose here at this hour?"

He's now beside my bed once more, just close enough so that I can barely make out the objects in his hands. My slippers. The only other pair I brought with me on the Victory Tour.

"Maybe if you didn't talk so much, Princess," He drops the slippers in front of me. "You'd find out the answers to your questions sooner." His head nods towards the wrinkled robe in my hands; I assume motioning me to put it on. "And like you always say to me," His voice rises several octaves, "_I__t isn't proper to keep people waiting_."

Whether it's my growing anxiety or the fact Haymitch has woken me up far too early for even my liking, I do not have the strength to chide him about his mockery of me. Instead I slip on the robe, my fingers fumbling with its belt. After many failed attempts on my part of trying to tie it, I hear a groan of aggravation come from Haymitch.

"Any day now would be nice, Princess," he grumbles, "It's a simple knot, not rocket science."

I'm growing flustered now, the thoughts of impending doom and exhaustion weighing down on every muscle in my body. The belt sits tangled against my protruding stomach and I have no desire to try to tie it again. I look up at Haymitch unsure of what expression my face now holds. One of displeasure and distress if I'm not mistaken. What ever it is, Haymitch's eyes roll in response and he reached down, taking the belt in his hands.

"There," he grumbles quietly, his trembling hands twisting the fabric into a surprisingly nice bow. "I don't see what's so damn difficult about that."

I find myself gazing down at his hands for a second. His knuckles gently press against the apex of my stomach as he tightens the bow and I wonder if he can feel the faint flutters of tiny feet as the being they belong to begins to stir. Though, as my eyes flash up to his face, I see no sign that he has. After a few moments, he removes his hands from my bow and steps back.

"Thank you," I say quietly, "I never knew you could tie bows." I find myself touching the edge of one of the loops. "Almost professional."

He grunts in reply, "There's a lot you don't know about me, Princess." And he's probably right about that since he decides not to share anything with me. "Now, I'll be the one giving you thanks as soon as you put on those slippers and we can go downstairs." He turns his head to the door and quickly adds, "People'll think we're doing something up here..."

I feel my brows furrow in confusion. "I don't think I understand..." But a frown meant for me appears on his face and I decide not to question it further.

I slide off of the bed, planting my feet into the soft fluff of my slippers. It's far more pleasant than the cold ground I'm sure they are blocking my feet from. Though the soft shoes add a feeling of comfort to my present state, I cannot yet relax. Still, I have yet to be told who awaits me downstairs and as I look to Haymitch as we both make our way to the door, I can tell he is in no mood for sharing.

We make our way slowly down the long staircase neither of us muttering a word to the other. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears as my stomach seems to twist with nausea with each beat. I can only compare this feeling to what I felt when I learned of Katniss's horrid action she performed when she shot that arrow during her private session with the Gamemakers during the 74th Game. And as my mind races with these thoughts, these old memories, I don't even realize until a moment later that we are off the stairs.

I have to force myself to look up as we step into the living room. When I finally do lift my eyes, my heart freezes in surprise. I have prepared myself for the worst but instead, I am met by something I wasn't expecting at all. For there, standing in the living room all dressed in not military uniforms but plush winter coats and boots are none other than Cinna and Portia.

"Surprise." Haymitch mutters, his voice void of any actual emotions.

I'm taken aback to say the least. I wasn't expecting to see Cinna and Portia for weeks, maybe even months. No phone call, no letter, no announcement was given to me to alert me that they were coming at all. Katniss's wedding dress photoshoot had been postponed, yes, but I hadn't even set up a new date for it yet. But there they both stand, dark eyes visible on even Portia's powdered face, and the sickening feeling of being unprepared takes over any and all existing fears.

"Probably surprised I bet. We are too." Portia is walking towards me, a smile present on her cherry red lips. "We didn't think we were coming for at least another three weeks but just the other day, a letter from President Snow informed us otherwise..."

She stops in front of me, her eyes flashing down to my stomach for a split second before her arms extend and pull me into a gentle hug. I hesitate for a moment before wrapping my arms around her in return. I forgot how nice it feels to be embraced.

Portia pulls away after a few seconds. "I'm terribly sorry about the clothes you asked for." Her eyes are gazing down at my stomach again. "The postal services seem to have only delivered Katniss's wedding dresses to her. Every package I tried to send to you was returned to me a few days later."

"Katniss's wedding dresses?" I look at her with surprise.

"Yes, Cinna and I mailed them a good month or so ago." Portia's eyeing me with confusion now. "Did she not tell you?"

"No..." I mumble, "She didn't..."

And I can't help but feel upset by Katniss not telling me of their arrival. Why hadn't she told me? She had plenty of opportunities to. The corners of my mouth threaten to twitch into a frown as I swallow hard, trying to not appear upset.

"Well," I say after a few moments, "They're here. I guess that's what matter's most." I glance around the room quickly noticing for the first time that there are no prep teams nor cameramen present. "Where are the others? The prep teams and film crews?" I ask Portia.

"Prep teams are over at the Everdeens' getting Katniss ready and the crews won't be here for another good hour or two." She says extracting a small clipboard from the large handbag on her shoulder. "I took the liberty of making a schedule," She holds it out to me, "I thought that you could critique it and make any adjustments if need be."

I take it from her without a word. Warmth suddenly flows throughout my body as clutch the one thing that seems to define me more than anything else. This schedule is not only a representation of my job, my life, but something that always has a way of keeping me sane at times when it seems merely impossible. From behind me, I hear Haymitch let out a snort.

"You act like that worthless piece of paper is worth millions, Princess."

"Thank you for making this, Portia." I tell her as I do my best to ignore Haymitch's comment. "It was really too kind of you to do so."

She gives a warm smile and a nod, "It was the least I could do. After all, I just wanted to make things easier for you." And I see she's not looking into my eyes but down at my stomach.

"I think I better go over to the Everdeens' and see how the prep team is doing with Katniss." Cinna speaks up for the first time since I saw him. "I think I might change the shade we previously chose for Katniss's nails." He turns to me, a smile similar to Portia's on his face, "It really was wonderful to see you again, Effie. I hope that maybe we can catch up before Portia's and my departure later."

"Yes, I do hope so too, Cinna." I say with a smile.

"I think I'll join you, Cinna." Haymitch says inhaling, "I'm sure there will be need of assistance for the refreshment setup." And I can't help but frown knowing that he's idea of helping out is only so that he can snag a few bottles of wine.

Portia and I both watch as Cinna, with Haymitch at his heels, exit the living room. We're silent until we hear the sound of the front door slamming shut. Portia inhales deeply before turning to me, her hands resting at her side.

"It's been so long." She says, "Cinna and I have both been worried about how you've been."

Though all that I really wish to do is focus on the tasks that lie ahead, I know that as Portia's friend, a quick discussion to catch up on our lives is needed. Even if it is pressing dangerously into the timed schedule.

"I'm fine," I assure her, "It hasn't been all too horrible staying with Haymitch. Once, of course, you get used to his snide comments and rather distasteful manners."

She nods thoughtfully, her eyes fixed on my stomach, "And the baby?" She asks.

"I turned twenty weeks two days ago." And my hand finds it's way to my stomach, "Three weeks ago was when I first start to feel her move."

Portia raises her eyebrows in surprise, "It's a girl?" She asks, "I was unaware of District Twelve having technology to show such things."

"No, no. I'm don't know if she is or isn't yet." I quickly shake my head, "It's just..." And I pause, trying to think of a way to word it, "I dislike calling her an it. It just seems rather unkind to do so."

Portia nods again. "And Haymitch?" She asks, "What does he think about all of this?"

"I'm not sure." I tell her truthfully, "I'm not really sure about anything when it comes to Haymitch. He never tells me anything." The corners of my lips twitch downward, "I'm always kept in the dark. About everything."

Portia's hand reaches up and touches my shoulder, giving me a squeeze of sympathy. "I'm sure there's a reason for his actions. I know he cares for you, even if he has an odd way of showing it."

I suppress a laugh at her words. "I highly doubt he does. I don't think he really likes me all that much. My company, I mean." I inhale, arching my back slightly to get more comfortable. "He's made it very clear to me on several different occasions he despises my being here."

"I'm sure if he really felt that way he wouldn't have let you stay here." She gives my shoulder another squeeze, "Love works in mysterious ways, Effie. It always has and always will. It's a matter of realizing it."

Love? My cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. Why in Panem would she describe my relationship with Haymitch using that word? It's far from that word, as far as it can be. I don't love him and he not me. I won't lie and say that at certain times I've had feelings for him that I dearly wish he'd reciprocate but love? No. That word is too strong.

"I think now it's time we go over to the Everdeens'." Portia's voice breaks through my train of thought. "Though I'd rather much spend more time catching up with you." Her hand takes mine and gives it a squeeze. "Perhaps later on there will be some time for that." Her eyes flicker down to my stomach once more and she lets out a chuckle, "And even before anything else happens, you may want to change into something other than your robe. I'm not sure you'd be too thrilled to be caught on camera wearing night clothing."

All I can do is nod in response. My mind is still fixated on her words. On the choice of her words. And though, when we finally make our way over to the Everdeens' and the photoshoot begins, no matter how hard I try my best to stay focused, to keep everyone in line, my mind only travels back to what she said to me. It isn't until Katniss is trying on her fifth dress do I manage to push back any other thoughts but those dealing with the photoshoot.

"Why, I do believe a brighter light is needed for this dress's color." I say to Cinna as I do my best to avoid the cameras. "Would you agree so?"

Cinna's brow furrows in concentration as he strides over to Katniss, his eyes focused on her dress. "Maybe not a brighter light," He murmurs, "But more light." And with a clap of his hands, several people step forward with a rather large light and focus it down on Katniss.

I lost sight of Haymitch after the second dress-he originally had been at the bar enjoying the supply of liquor that had be brought-and Portia disappeared after the fourth dress. Though I'm curious as to where they both went off too, there are far more important tasks to focus at hand. Ten different camera angles are taken of Katniss before she dismounts the small stage that's set up for her and is whisked away by her prep team to ready her up for the sixth and final dress.

I turn to Cinna who is now leaning against a nearby chair. The copious amounts of light make it easy to see the beads of sweat glistening on his temples like tiny diamonds. I feel empathetic towards him for I too feel incredibly hot with all of this light in the room. Being pregnant doesn't help the matter much either.

"Cinna, could I get you a drink?" I ask him. "You look awfully hot. Perhaps a cold glass of sparkling water would do you some good."

He looks over at me with a smile. His hand reaches up and mops the sides of his face with a white handkerchief before placing it back deep into his pocket.

"Actually, that would be lovely. Thank you, Effie."

"Oh, you are very much welcome." I say crossing towards the door that'll lead to the kitchen. "It's not a problem at all. I was thinking of getting myself something too."

When I step into the kitchen it's almost instant relief. The air is so much cooler, so less humid than it is where the photoshoot is taking place. As I walk over to where the several different drinks sit at the makeshift bar, I catch something out of the corner of my eye. There, at the other entrance of the kitchen stand Portia and Haymitch who both appear to be in deep conversation with one another. They're speaking so softly, so quickly that I can't catch a word of what they're saying. Suddenly, Haymitch turns his head and spots me.

"Oh, wonderful..." A frown spreads across his face, "Eavesdropping are we, Princess?"

Portia looks from Haymitch to me. "I'm going to go see if any help is needed in the photoshoot area." Her eyes meet Haymitch's briefly. "I'll keep what you said in mind."

He merely nods and watches as she exits, leaving us both alone in the kitchen. I completely forget about the fact that I'm supposed to bring Cinna a drink as I walk over to Haymitch. As rude and unsightly as it is, I'm highly curious about what just happened between him and Portia. What did she mean she'd keep what he said in mind?

"May I ask what was that about?"

He rubs his nose with the back of his hand. "Nothing that's anything of your concern, Princess." And I see to my dismay the half empty bottle of wine in his hand, "Now go back to what ever the hell you were doing before and let me enjoy my drink."

"It seemed rather important." I push, "Perhaps if you told me I could help-"

But he holds out his hand to silence me immediately. I watch with anger as he takes a swig of his alcohol and leans so carelessly against the door frame. I know it's rude to intrude of people's secrets but when it comes to Haymitch, usually the secret is known by everyone else but me.

"Your help is not needed at this time but I'll be sure to keep your offer in mind if I ever decide to go wig shopping."

"I really dislike how you keep everything from me." I say, my voice starting to lose its calm tone. "I'd much appreciate it if you'd allow me in on a few of your secrets."

He tilts his head for a moment as if considering this before he takes a rather large gulp of wine. ''Don't think you're ready to handle what I have to say, Princess," he nods towards the opposite doorway, "Now why don't you go back in there and get on someone else's nerves rather than mine?"

My blood is boiling with rage as I take a few steps closer to him. "I am fed up with how you've been treating me, Haymitch Abernathy!" And I'm shouting now, not at all caring for what ever reason if someone else hear's. "I have done nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing wrong! And I really don't understand what I've do for you to hate me!"

He raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth as if to reply but I don't let him. It's my turn to talk and I take my turn seriously.

"The least you could do is show me some respect! Some slight compassion! My mother taught me that every person had some sensibility in them but it wasn't until this moment that I realized she was wrong! There is nothing sensible about you!" My breathing is heavy but my blood is surging with adrenaline. "I am the escort of twelve! I am a citizen of the Capitol! I am the mother of your child! Give me the respect I deserve!"

He's silent for a minute as I stand there trying to catch my breath. Then, after what seems like great consideration, he finally speaks.

"I've given you a roof over your head, Princess. What else do you want from me?"

And with anger, hormones, and heat raging inside of me, I'm compelled to do something that is not at all proper, not at all appropriate, something that I will most definitely curse myself for doing later. I push myself forward, arms extended, and crash my lips against Haymitch's. I can taste the bitterness of liquor on his tongue, feel the worn skin of his lips, hear the sound of his liquor bottle hitting the floor as his arms instead now wrap around me.

This is wrong. So wrong. So horribly, terribly wrong.

But then again, how can something so wrong feel so right?

And I allow my eyes to close.

Allow myself this moment.

No matter how wrong or right it may be.

**Well? What did you think? I had difficulty in trying to figure out how to make the kiss work so I hope I did an okay job. It's quite hard to try to build their relationship while keeping them in character. Luckily, Effie can have mood swings that'll make her do some things she may not normally do. Maybe not my best chapter but I haven't been writing for several days so I promise there will be improvement since I'm back into the swing of things. Hm...what else? Oh yes, next chapter is the announcement of the Quarter Quell. I cannot wait to write about that. Oh! And you will learn later on what Haymitch was talking to Portia about. Please review (and maybe I'll start adding more fluff between Effie and Haymitch. Do I hear anyone wish for some cuddling? Hand holding? ...Maybe even some more kissing if I can fit it in properly?) Reviews always help with getting certain ideas into the story *wink, wink*. Anywho, hope this chapter was alright. I'll go back later and fix typos and such. Also, I'm curious to know everyone's opinion. I made a poll on my profile page because I was curious (and this is for future reference, like epilogue future reference-which isn't for quite awhile) about which one of the choices you liked better. I promise, I will try make sure not to allow another chapter to be as prolonged as this one.-Jen**


	18. Seeing the Opposite End

**I'm so excited and so grateful! This story has reached over 400 reviews! Thank you everyone who has contributed to that number! It means so much to know that you all enjoy the story. As for the last chapter (and a reviews I received for other chapters in the same time frame), thank you so much nekkuu, YvelissaBlossom, Savysnape7, American Fantasy, daxcat79, shesetfiretothegames, anon, Rippl, HB rules, Firing Rockets on Dragons, anon, AnnAddicted, OliviaMellark, bmlshoup, Ember Belli, Julia, Cle de sol, TwiHarInk113, Joshissmexy93, June Bell, Criminalmindschick6, DangerousD, fludernutter01, anon, MissEffieTrinket, DrawingAddict, TeeTee95, anon, TheMyification, kimimellark, TheGirlWhoWasOnFire21, LTree16, cato, insubordinateGryffindor, Fish Wishes, MargretheP, MarigoldxObsidian, tomboys rule girly girls suck, and Adessa101 for your extremely kind and (I know I say this a lot but I really do mean it) inspiring reviews. Now, without further ado, here is chapter eighteen. **

Chapter eighteen: Seeing the Opposite End

I'm pulled back into reality as I feel his lips leave mine. As if it's him breaking away that snaps me from my trance, my eyes flutter open only to lock onto the gray orbs of his. His face offers no expression nor insight as to what he's thinking and no words, not even a sound of discontent, escape from his mouth. Just cold, blank silence. The kind of silence that tugs at your heart strings, twists in your stomach, causes your blood to boil with regret and mortification. And as silly and immature as it may sound, I wish to do nothing more than disappear. Maybe then, I could at least curse myself for my rash actions in solitude.

The seconds seem to tick by so painfully slow it's as if time itself is mocking me. Finally, after a long minute, I watch Haymitch stoop down and lift the cracked liquor bottle he had previously dropped off the floor. He turns it in his hand inquisitively before tipping the mouth of it over his own, draining the last few drops of the distasteful liquid onto his tongue.

"I won't lie, Princess," his lips mold into a strange, small smile that's almost a grimace. "It's been awhile since someone caught me off guard like that."

I can feel the heat radiating off of my cheeks. Surely I must be blushing a shade close to that of a red rose lapel. My heart pounds erratically as I see him reach behind himself, bring a fresh bottle of spirits forward without breaking his gaze on me. Can he not see how mortified I am? How upset I am with myself that I had the indecency to kiss him upon some silly impulse? And yet, he stands there nonchalantly sipping his drink while my body steams with humility. The similarity between his and my reactions to the kiss and that night several months back when we had sex are almost identical. Only an unplanned kiss does not cause an unplanned pregnancy.

"Well," the word escapes my mouth as I exhale, "I do apologize. I have no idea what came over me."

His lips twitch into what I think is a half smile of amusement at my apology. He tips the bottle back into his mouth, taking a large swig before clearing his throat. I'm beginning to wonder if maybe he's slightly intoxicated. God only knows how many drinks he had before I found him.

"You Capitolians and your apologizes," he says, the words slightly slurred as he takes another gulp of liquor, "giving them when they aren't needed and keeping them when they are."

The corners of my lips twitch into a frown. Though I do not understand what he just said, I have a feeling that it wasn't geared towards a compliment. Just as I open my mouth to reply, the familiar clicks of steel-toed stilettos fill my ears and I turn just in time to see Portia entering the room, Cinna trailing behind. My breath hitches in my throat as I pray silently that I'm no longer blushing.

"Katniss is about to come down in the sixth and final wedding dress." Cinna says as he withdraws a handkerchief from his pocket and proceeds to blot at his temples with it. "Hopefully the shots of her in each one will be enough to appease the audience at tomorrow night's voting."

"Oh?" I can't deny the fact that I'm surprised that so soon after the photoshoot the pictures will be aired on national television. "They've scheduled the photoshoot images to be shown this soon after the shooting?"

Cinna nods and lifts a clear glass of water from the table. I'm suddenly reminded immediately that one of the reasons I came to the kitchen in the first place was to get him a drink. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks in embarrassment from forgetting that simple task. Thankfully, no one seems to notice my color change.

"Apparently the citizens of the Capitol cannot contain their excitement about the wedding." Portia replies, "Caesar Flickerman sure has a way of getting crowds to become enthusiastic."

As I listen to Portia, an urge grows in me to tell her what happened. About the kiss between Haymitch and me. But now is not the time to do so. There are far bigger things to be concerned about besides my affairs. And part of me wants to act like the kiss never happened anyway. Another part of me wishing to explore it further.

"Surprised President Snow didn't ship Katniss all the way to the Capitol to personally try on the dresses for everyone in public." The bitter words that sound full of resentment belong to Haymitch and I turn to see him placing an empty bottle on the counter. "Wouldn't be the first time a victor was shown about like a prized animal."

"Hopefully Katniss has gained immunity from that due to her current circumstances," and for the first time that I've ever seen, Cinna actually frowns. "She is to be married after all."

"No one is ever safe," Haymitch replies gruffly, "Sometimes it takes experience to learn that."

I look from Cinna to Haymitch with what I'm sure is a look of utter confusion on my face. What in Panem were they talking about? Immunity? Shown around like a prized animal? Their words make absolutely no sense to me and when I look to Portia for more answers, she's gives me but a smile of sympathy. Yet another secret I am being kept out of.

The conversation ends with Haymitch's statement and soon we all, excluding Haymitch who decided upon staying in the kitchen to drink, enter the living room where we find Katniss already standing on top of the podium. For such a tedious amount of work that is put into glamouring her up, the few, quick snaps from the cameras seem to degrade the hard work with their simplistic ways. In a matter of minutes, Katniss is whisked away to be changed into her everyday attire while the makeshift studio, along with all of the dresses and accessories, are packaged up for the transport back to the Capitol.

It's not until an hour before the sunsets that everyone including the camera crews that came from the Capitol have collected all of their belongings and are ready to board the train. I'm saddened that there is no time left for me to really catch up with Cinna and Portia. Fortunately, the hope that maybe I'll be able to call them by phone still lingers in my mind as I escort them to the train station.

"You could always come back with us," Portia tells me as we embrace, "The lockdown in Twelve is slowly being lifted. I'm sure an exception could be made that'd allow you to travel back with us. After all, you are a citizen of the Capitol."

I pull back slightly, surprised by those words from Portia. I can't deny that I've wished over and over again that I could return home but now being offered the option, the reality of it doesn't seem as sweet. The Capitol is my home. It will always be my home. But right now I feel as if I cannot leave Twelve. That there is some force holding me here that I cannot explain.

"I think it's best that I stay temporarily," I say after a long pause, "To make sure things keep in order. Just until the Quarter Quell of course."

My excuse for staying isn't all that grand but for whatever reason, it still brings a smile to Portia's face. She merely nods, pulls me into one more hug, before stepping back, taking her place beside Cinna who I previously wished farewell too.

"Keep your chin up, Effie," she says softly, "I'll be calling you soon. We do, after all, really need to still catch up."

The sound of the train whistle announces that it's time for departure. I watch, my heart growing heavy, as Cinna and dear Portia head onto the train that soon disappears into the orange glow off in the distance. I stand at the station for a moment, my eyes fixed on the spot where they were only minutes before. Too soon had this day gone by. So much had happened.

A cool wind blows sending a shiver down my spine. Wrapping my arms around myself, I walk slowly back towards the Victor's Village when I find the door of Haymitch's home wide open and thick muddy boot prints leading inside. I can't help but frown deeply. It's the first time in weeks he's been heavily drunk and by his actions, it shows.

Carefully, I make my way inside, dodging the splats of mud that poor Hazelle would be cleaning up. It's not at all fair to expect her to do such a thing, but there would be no way to convince Haymitch to clean it himself and as for me, I'm overtaken by a sudden way of exhaustion that makes even the floor look like a comfortable resting ground. With a hazy mind, I climb up the long steps to the second floor and saunter into my room.

It requires a lot of willpower not to just fall over into bed without first changing into night clothes. But, by some miracle, I manage. I crawl underneath the thick covers that lay atop of my mattress and close my eyes. It's the first time today that I've actually had a moment of relaxation. And with relaxation, with silence, come the delicate flutters from within me.

Her movements, like her, grow as the days pass. Realization that in just a few months time I will be a mother has yet to take it's full effect on me. It still seems so surreal that within me there stirs a being. A being that will learn to crawl. To walk. To talk. A child that for the first time will not be one of my tributes but rather my own. My daughter. My son. My kin.

Slowly, as I lay there feeling the tiny nudges, I'm pulled into the realm of unconsciousness of which I am only roused from when the bright rays of sunlight shine through the window and across my face. Like too often, the morning comes far too soon for my liking. Perhaps if it weren't for my stomach growling, I may have actually considered sleeping in for just a few minutes longer. But I've learned when you're pregnant, every feeling whether it be hunger, need to urinate, sleep, or any other needs, are greatly increased. And so, though I did eat yesterday, I feel so famished it's as if I haven't eaten in weeks.

It takes me a good hour to shower and dress before I'm heading down the stairs. I note on my way to the kitchen how, unlike last night, the floor is virtually spotless without a single speck of mud or wine cork to be in sight. Who knows how long Hazelle has been here if the place already looks so clean this early in the morning. Shaking the thought from my head, I walk into the kitchen to find on top of the stove a pot full of what looks like oats and honey.

"You just missed Haymitch."

A voice behind me causes me to jump slightly in surprise. I turn to see, much to my relief, that it's Hazelle standing there, mop in hand. It takes a moment for her words to sink in but when they do, I cannot help but feel slightly confused.

"Missed Haymitch?" I ask, rudely not bothering to wish her a good morning.

She nods simply and leans the mop against the wall. "He took off with Katniss not but twenty minutes ago. Not too sure where they're going. I think maybe it's just for a walk."

I find it strange and somewhat alarming that at this hour Haymitch is up and about even after heavily drinking the night before. As Hazelle retrieves a bowl from the cabinets to, I assume, make me a bowl of porridge, I wonder if Haymitch is sharing yet another secret with someone that he does not wish to tell me. The thought makes me frown.

"I hear from Prim that the photoshoot went extremely well," Hazelle says as she sets the steaming bowl on the table. "I ran into her on my way here as she was going off to school. She seemed very excited about it to say the least."

"Oh yes, things went as planned." I grimace slightly at the irony of my statement as I sit down. After all, I did not get to plan anything at all. "Tonight all the outfits will be aired live."

"So I hear," Hazelle says setting down a tall glass of water in front of me. "It's been made mandatory that all citizens watch it. I can't complain though. I did really want to see how Katniss's wedding dresses turned out," she gives me a small smile, "Guess I get to now."

I begin to eat the warm porridge, all my other priorities other than eating ceased. Half way through breakfast, Hazelle leaves me to go tend to the upstairs and I finish alone. After breakfast comes lunchtime and then dinner. As the hours pass, Haymitch is still no where to be found and my curiosity soon grows to worry. It's not until around eight when I'm just about to phone the Everdeens' to try to learn his whereabouts that he stumbles into the living room.

"Haymitch!" I don't know whether I'm relieved, angry, or happy to see him. "Where have you been? It's not at all proper to just disappear without telling someone where you are going!"

He completely ignores my concern towards him as he takes his seat on the couch, lifting a bottle of liquor from the floor. I watch him carefully, hoping that he'll give me some clue as to where he has been all day. All he does though is take a large gulp of liquor and nod towards the television set.

"Mandatory viewing," is all he slurs.

I had completely forgotten that today was when the wedding dresses on Katniss would be revealed for voting. Quickly, I flip on the television to find, much to my dismay, that it appears the viewing has been going on for quite awhile now. Caesar, along with Cinna, stand on a stage surrounded by a crowd of at least one hundred thousand people, the pictures of the dresses overhead.

"Let's get Katniss Everdeen to her wedding in style!" he hollers and the crowd goes wild with enthusiasm.

I look toward Haymitch with a frown, blaming him for the fact that I missed the entire showing. He, on the other hand, does not seem to notice but rather stays focused on television screen as the camera zooms in close to Caesar's face.

"Now citizens, stay in tune for we have a very special treat for you today!" His grin widens as the crowd can be heard cheering, "That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"

I glance over at Haymitch whose lips are pressed into a thin line as the anthem begins to play. Normally I would be ecstatic about the Quell if I were back home celebrating with my Capitol friends, but being here with Haymitch, seeing the expression on his face, I surprisingly feel no happiness towards the event. Biting my lip gently, I turn towards the television screen to see President Snow entering with a young boy dressed in a white suit.

President Snow gives the speech that is heard every year on the film they play at each Reaping. The Dark Days, the laws passed about the Games, the Quarter Quell meaning, all were common knowledge that I felt were just being spoken to build up the excitement and anxiety. And of course, if that were the case, it's working.

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it." He pauses for a moment before continuing, "On the fiftieth anniversary," My eyes immediately flash to Haymitch, "as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes."

Haymitch's frown deepens but his eyes stay focused on the television screen. I feel a strange pang of guilt as I watch him. I'm not sure why I feel this way. I have no reason too, but something just doesn't seem right about all of this. Awkwardly, as I'm unsure of what else to do, I place my hand over his and give it a squeeze, hoping he'll realize that I'm here with him. He doesn't even react in the slightest.

"And now for the third Quarter Quell," President Snow extracts a yellowed envelope from the box the little boy is holding. My heart begins to pound with adrenaline as he flips open the flap and removes the square piece of paper. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

My heart stops at his words. My blood freezing. A wave of numbness washes over my body as the words sink in.

_On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors..._

There are only three victors in District Twelve. One female. Two males. The odds were in no ones favor.

Haymitch is going back into the reaping bowl...

**This was take three of this chapter. I decided that of the ones I've worked on, I liked this one the best. Sorry for any spelling errors and such, I finished this at one in the morning so I'll go back later and edit. To clarify, just because Haymitch and Effie kissed doesn't mean they are suddenly become very intimate with one another. They still need time to grow close. Effie seems to care about Haymitch more and the reason I kind of wrote that in is because I read that pregnant women (some, not all) develop stronger feelings towards their partners so again, hormones (or much more). Anywho, please review! It means so much to get feedback and it helps me keep up with the story (and stay up until one in the morning writing chapters *insert laugh/smile here*). Anyway, hope you enjoyed, sorry if it seemed a tad rushed. I finally managed to come up with an idea for it I liked (for two chapters I wrote while experiencing a chest cold and medicine does not at all help with keeping one awake while writing nor with thinking clearly). Oh yes, I have some sweet Effie and Haymitch moments planned for the next chapter for those who like Hayffie moments.-Jen**


	19. The Deeper Meaning

**I wanted to post this chapter yesterday but for whatever reason, my internet connection was down, which I think may have had something to do with my server since it was not just my laptop but all of the computers in my house were unable to go online. Anywho, thankfully, everything seems a-okay now. Thank you so much Savysnape7, YvelissaBlossom, HB rules, American Fantasy, grumpirah, Firing Rockets on Dragons, Joshissmexy92, BoWsAnDaRrOwScHiCk13, TheGirlWhoWasOnFire21, greengurl, HogwartsDreamer113, Natureboy3, Adessa101, br0503, asha74, June Bell, bertie-todd, thepotionsmaster7, amanda467444, cato, nekkuu, loveu5missu6, and DrawingAddict for your wonderful, writing motivated, reviews! Your feedback is the reason why I've had a sudden rush of writing adrenaline (meaning I have updated sooner than I have been.)  
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Chapter nineteen: The Deeper Meaning

"_On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors..."_

The voice of President Snow throbs in my temples as his words replay in my head over and over again. It's as if I slipped into a dream. Into a nightmare that I cannot awaken from. So unreal this all feels. So impossible. So improvable. And yet, it happened. The timing of this Quarter Quell twist can not be more wrong and as I open my mouth to speak, still unsure of what will come out, the sound of a door slamming within seconds of a sweat drenched, wide-eyed Peeta appearing in the door frame brings but more shock.

"Haymitch!" He nearly stumbles over his own two feet as he hurries across the floor to Haymitch. "Haymitch, please! You have to let me go back in even if your name is drawn!"

At first, I'm confused as to what he's talking about. Only then, after putting President Snow's announcement and Peeta's unexpected visit together, does my stomach twist in realization. He's asking Haymitch's permission to volunteer for the Quarter Quell. Volunteers for tribute positions are exciting but not like this. Not in the situation that's currently happening. This feeling of dread. Of remorse. Is this how the families of those who become tributes feel? I turn to look at Haymitch, the churning I feel inside me worsening.

He stays silent for a minute, eyes fixed on Peeta as if he's searching for something. Then, after what seems like careful consideration, he reaches down for the half empty bottle of liquor that rests at his feet and brings it to his lips. I watch as he drains it dry before discarding it onto the ground. Though as uncleanly it is for him to trash it so, I do not scold him. I haven't the heart to do so right now.

"So," Haymitch slurs, "Let me get this straight. You want to take my place in the Games if I'm reaped, is that correct?"

Peeta nods firmly, "That's right. I'm asking to volunteer as tribute if your name is pulled from the reaping bowl instead of mine."

"And why," Haymitch says slouching down into the couch cushions, "should I accept your offer? What's in it for me?"

Peeta's mouth drops open, "Are you seriously telling me that you want to go back into the arena? To fight your friends to the death?" Rudely, he jabs a finger in my direction, "To risk your child not having a father? By allowing me to go in, not only are you guaranteeing yourself life and not the guilt of slaughtering your friends, but being given a second chance to be there for your family!" his brow furrows deeply as he takes a moment to catch his breath, "And," he adds quietly, "you owe me this anyway. I at least deserve a say in what happens since you obviously chose Katniss over me in the arena. Not that I didn't want that to happen, I did, and now I want you to repay your debt to me by allowing me back in." His voice become soft, pleading, "Please, Haymitch. Don't make me beg."

"Your argument isn't strong, boy." Haymitch says after a few moments, "What makes you think Katniss is going to let you volunteer anyway? For all I know she'll be bursting through the front door any second begging me to take your place if you're called."

"I don't care what Katniss wants." Peeta's tone is surprisingly cold, "It's my decision."

"That may be." Haymitch replies, "But decisions can always be overruled. There's no rule in the Reaping that says I cannot revoke your request to be tribute. Whichever one of you damn kids I side with, the other one'll hate me for it. Personally, I think having you hate me would be far much easier to handle than Katniss. At least if I went in and died, I wouldn't have to deal with you in the aftermath of if Katniss was killed."

My breath hitches in my throat at Haymitch's words. His considering going in. His willingness to die in the arena. Maybe if I weren't here. Maybe if I never grew to know Haymitch like I do now, I'd consider his possible decision of turning down Peeta's volunteer offer heroic. But no, this is far from that. This is Haymitch at his most stupid, drunkest moment. Perhaps it's selfish and vile of me to want him to take Peeta's offer. To let him walk free while Peeta dies in the arena. And maybe it's my unbalanced hormone levels but as I watch Haymitch from where I sit, I begin to see how important it is to me that he stay alive. Begin to see how much I need him.

"You're going to have a child!" Peeta's unexpected cry of frustration snaps me from my thoughts. "I have no children! No kid that'll grow up wondering who I was and why I am not in their life!"

Haymitch merely shrugs, "The kid would probably do better without me around. I'm not very paternal. Probably grow up hating me anyway."

It's as if Haymitch has stabbed me in the heart with his words. Did he really feel like the baby would hate him? That he wouldn't be a good father and therefore should die? Haymitch may be a drunk, uncleanly, ungodly rude man, but deep down I truly feel-maybe-that somewhere within him is a person who could show the compassion and love needed to raise a child. I open my mouth to say some, to rebut his statement, but Peeta already is diving back into the quarrel.

"So that's it then?" Peeta says coldly, his brows knitted together, "You're just going to abandon your child on the notion that you think you're going to be a bad father? You've done some pretty heartless things, Haymitch, but this, this tops them all."

"Look, boy," Haymitch straightens up a little, his eyes fixed on Peeta, "Don't you try to guilt-trip me into letting you volunteer. And if I were you, I'd watch what I were saying. Most folks don't take kindly to others making certain assumptions about them and even I've got my limits on that. I've bruised your face once, boy, and I'll do it again."

"I'm not looking for a fight, Haymitch." Peeta says quietly, "Just hoping to get you to realize there is more at stake than just Katniss being mad about you letting me take your place in the arena." He turns away and walks towards the kitchen door, only to stop a few inches short of it. "Just think about what I said."

And just as he was here, he disappears. His exiting the house heard seconds later when the front door slams shut. Before I have time to compile my thoughts, Haymitch has gotten off the couch and now appears to be staggering in the same direction Peeta just left from. The fear that he is trying to go after Peeta hits me and I too stand up.

"Haymitch!" He stops abruptly when I call his name but does not turn around. I hesitate for a second before finally finding my ability to speak again. "Where are you going?"

"To get another drink," he grumbles, "one that isn't the temperature of the living room."

I stand silently and watch as he trudges off towards the kitchen without another word. I debate whether I should go after him or not. I know Haymitch well enough to know that when he's flat at drunk, he isn't the most pleasant person to be around. But after all that has happened tonight, I can't blame him for his heavy alcohol consumption. Just as I take a step forward towards the entrance, I hear the front door open for the second time this night. At first, I believe it must be Peeta coming back for a second round arguing with Haymitch until I Haymitch speak.

"Ah there she is. All tuckered out. finally did the math, did you, sweetheart? Worked out you won't be going in alone? And now you're here to ask me...what?"

Katniss. My heart skips a beat. Haymitch hadn't been wrong about Katniss coming after all. And unlike Peeta's visit where he tried to talk Haymitch out of going back into the arena, my stomach twists in knowing that Katniss does not have the same intentions in mind. Quietly, I take a step closer to the entrance so I can hear clearer.

"I'll admit," Haymitch's speaking again, "it was easier for the boy. He was here before I could snap the seal on a bottle. Begging me for another chance to go in. But what can you say?" And in almost the same mimicking tone he uses for me, he imitates Katniss. "_Take his place, Haymitch, because of all things being equal, I'd rather Peeta had a crack at the rest of his life than you?_"

I frown softly as I listen to Haymitch. For some reason, even though I shouldn't let it, his words causes a pang in my heart. I shake off the feeling of remorse when I hear Katniss speak up for the first time since she entered.

"I came for a drink."

Those were the last words I expected to come from her mouth. A drink? For a young girl such as herself? Surely Haymitch wouldn't comply to her request. But, as usual, I am proven wrong when the sound of Haymitch's laughs of amusement and thump of glass against wood fill my ears. The only reason I do not rush in there and take whatever foul liquid he has given her away is because I, and I'm not proud of this, but wish to hear more of what they are talking about. Pushing my beliefs aside, I lean against the door frame and listen in intently.

"Maybe it should be you," I hear Katniss say between coughs, "You hate life anyways."

"Very true," Haymitch says in a similar tone he used with Peeta early on in their argument. "And since last time I tried to keep _you _alive...seems like I'm obligated to save the boy this time."

"That's a very good point," Katniss says without missing a beat.

"Peeta's argument is that since I chose you, I now owe him. Anything he wants. And what he wants is the chance to go in again and protect you." There's a moment of pause before Haymitch speaks again, "He also _kindly _brought up the fact that it wouldn't be very fatherly of me to go back into the arena."

"No, I suppose not," From her slurred tone, I can tell the effects of liquor are already settling in her, "that wouldn't be considerate of you as a father would it?"

I feel the soft flutters from within me and I swallow hard. What if she grew up fatherless? How greatly does a father impact the life of a child? I try to remember my father. Remember what my childhood was like with him in it before he died. Would I have turned out differently if I hadn't had lost him at such a young age? And Katniss. She too lost her father when she was young. If he was still alive now, how would her life differ? It's not until I hear Haymitch's voice that I'm pulled from my thoughts.

"You could live a hundred lifetimes and still not deserve him, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Katniss sighs, "No question, he's the superior one in this trio. So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Haymitch exhales, "Go back in with you maybe, if I can," my heart sinks at his words but I stay strong and continue to listen, "If my name's drawn at the reaping, it won't matter. He'll just volunteer to take my place."

"It'd be bad for you in the arena, wouldn't it?" Katniss says after a few minutes of silence, "Knowing all of the others?"

"Oh, I think we can count on it being unbearable where ever I am." He replies, "Can I have that back now? My liquor bottle?"

"No," And I can hear Haymitch opening a new bottle in response.

They both are silent again leaving me to wonder what could possibly be happening. Though, like all the silences tonight, it doesn't last very long before Katniss breaks it.

"Okay, I figured out what I'm asking," Katniss says, "If it is Peeta and me in the Games, this time we try to keep _him _alive. Like you said, it's going to be bad no matter how you slice it. And whatever Peeta wants, it's his turn to be saved. We both owe that to him." Her tone shifts, this time pleading, "Besides, the Capitol hates me so much, I'm as good as dead now. He still might have a chance. Please, Haymitch. Say you'll help me."

Unlike the conversation with Peeta, no snide comments escape from Haymitch's mouth. Instead, after a few moments, he exhales as if exhausted.

"All right," he's so quiet if I hadn't been paying attention, I would've of heard him.

I hear one of the chairs scoot back that I assume Katniss was sitting in. With a mutter of thanks, I hear her footsteps, much like Haymitch's when he's heavily drunk, stagger out of the house shutting the door loudly behind her. Finally, I can wait no more and I walk into the kitchen where I find Haymitch sitting slouched over. Cautiously, I make my way towards him.

"How long were you listening for, Princess?"

I gnaw on my lip gently, slightly embarrassed by the fact that he knows. Shaking the feeling of it aside, I take a step closer so that now I am standing over him, the stench of his liquor fumes burning my nose.

"I'm sorry," I tell him quietly, "I know that it must've been heard to choose between them both."

He doesn't turn around to look at me, only lifts his bottle to his lips to take a swig. "Girl's right. Boy gets first priorities this time around. It's only fair." He gulps down the rest of the bottle before reaching for another.

"It's not fair!'' I don't mean to blurt out the way I did. "The Capitol can't expect you all to reenter into the Games! You have immunity. How can they break one of their own laws? It makes no sense. There must be a mistake."

Haymitch chuckles almost sadly, "Finally understanding how your precious Capitol is corrupt, Princess? Fairness isn't an option with them. Only entertainment. That's how life goes I guess."

Shaking my head, I sit down in a chair beside Haymitch. "I'm the one who has to pull the names from the reaping bowl. I'm the one whose going to determine whether it's you or Peeta going in even before he decides to volunteer. Me. I'm the one who could determine your fate." I inhale deeply, my breathing slightly shaky.

"You weren't the one to put our names in." Haymitch mutters, "Don't blame yourself over something you know isn't your fault."

"But I'm the one who draws them," I whisper, "I might as well have put them in."

To my surprise, Haymitch places his hand over mine. I stare at it for a few seconds in surprise. Never has he ever shown the slightest bit of compassion like this. The corners of my mouth twitch into a small smile. This moment being the only ray of light in my otherwise dark day.

"It's not your fault," he repeats, "There's only one person to blame for this and he doesn't wear obnoxiously pink wigs."

I don't reply to his words. It's not needed. Instead, we sit in silence. As the minutes tick away, I grow tired but do not wish to leave Haymitch. Not right now. Not when he needs me. Not when I need him. After a moment of hesitation, I instead lay my head on his shoulder. He doesn't shake me away.

And for the first time I realize that maybe what Portia said back during the photoshoot is true.

Maybe love does work in mysterious ways.

**Effie and Haymitch are starting to grow closer... Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I did use a bit 'Catching Fire' dialogue for the Katniss and Haymitch talk (I won't probably using that much dialogue from the books again but I felt it important to use it in this chapter and have Effie's POV during it). And at the end, who Haymitch was referring to not wearing wigs was President Snow in case you didn't get that. This chapter wasn't as long as the others but I promise to make sure chapters are longer. Due to my internet being down, I actually (because I finally have microsoft word on my computer again) wrote this chapter on there and while waiting for the internet to be back up, started working on chapter twenty which is almost done (reviews will definitely help get that chapter out so much quicker since I'm almost done with it and it's practically sitting on my computer waiting to be uploaded *insert winky face*). Also, I'm going to try to work on updating more often (like I did with this chapter). So, please do review, it'll get the next chapter uploaded sooner! As for spelling and grammatical errors on this chapter, I apologize, I shall go back later and fix those.-Jen**


	20. The Legitimacy of Illegality

**First off, I'd like to take a moment to thank HB rules, YvelissaBlossom, nekkuu, AsTheClockStrikes12, Greco-Roman-Minerva, shesetfiretothegames, Savysnape7, Lollipop Child, Firing Rockets on Dragons, Blinkandyoullmissit, American Fantasy, asha74, 2B-ingus4once, catsdogs232, OliviaMellark, alyssa7, grumpirah, Minerva-Amantine, June Bell, daxcat79, anon, lioness58, thepotionmaster7, revanha, LanieLu, DrawingAddict, Hey, BritlovesReid, and HogwartsDreamer113 for the lovely feedback you gave me for last chapter (or previous chapters before that you reviewed in the same time frame as my latest update). Anywho, as promised, here is chapter twenty. Warning, there's a bit of explicit language in this chapter.-Jen**

Chapter twenty: The Legitimacy of Illegality

It's the dull ache that seems to surface from every muscle in my body that rouses me from my sleep. My eyes open, squinting momentarily from the bright light that gleams in from a window. It takes me a moment to come to my senses. To realize that I am not in my bed upstairs but sitting at the kitchen table with my fingers intertwined with those belonging to the unconscious figure slumped over beside me. Haymitch's fingers. I find myself gazing down at our hands with the utmost curiosity. When had I fallen asleep? How long had I been out for? As if to answer my own question, my stomach starts to growl with hunger followed not long after by the uncomfortable feeling of my full bladder. However long it had been, it was too long.

Carefully, I begin to pry my fingers away from Haymitch's. A few times I stop when he lets out a grunt, only to begin again when I see I have not waken him. I can't help but look at him for a moment when I finally undo our fingers. The graying stubble. The lines around his mouth and eyes that make him look far older than he really is. Even in his sleep, he still looks troubled. A strange urge overtakes me. I reach forward, wishing to touch his face for a brief second when a loud clatter that comes from behind interrupts me.

"Dammit!" hisses a voice.

My breath hitches in my throat. Immediately, I retract my hand and whip around to face the entrance that leads into the living room. Without a weapon or means of escape, whoever may be behind me, I am nothing but trapped. My heart pounds violently as I prepare myself for the oncoming attack. Though, when my eyes land on the blond figure standing but a few feet away from me, his hands holding a large box of liquor bottles, a new feeling triumphs over the fear I felt previously. Confusion.

"Peeta?" I ask, my voice full of surprise.

An apologetic look washes over Peeta's face. "I'm sorry," he says, "Did I wake you? I accidently dropped a bottle back there," he nods behinds him, "Didn't break too badly though. But don't worry, I promise to clean up the mess."

"Mess?" My eyes fix on the box of liquor bottles he is holding. At first I wonder if Hazelle had sent him over to clean for her today when I notice that almost every bottle he has is completely untouched, the liquor inside still full to the brim. Why in Panem would he be taking away perfectly good bottles? What were his intentions for them?

He gives a nod of his head, "Not a big mess," he assures me, "Just a bit of glass that won't take long to pick up. I'll do it after I dispose of these properly." The box gives a clank as he readjusts it in his arms.

"Wait," I say after pushing aside my current daze, "what do you mean you're disposing those bottles?" Though I have many questions for as to why Peeta is here in the first place, this seemed like the one that was top priority. "Those haven't been drank yet."

Peeta nods again, "I know," he says, "And it's going to stay that way. I'm getting rid of them. All of them. And not just the alcohol here. I've already cleared my house of it and Katniss's will be next."

Had he just said what I think he did? Throwing away alcohol? Haymitch's alcohol? Granted, I despised Haymitch's drinking but never had I considered trashing his supply. No, that was a very dangerous road to travel down. But here Peeta is talking so nonchalantly about clearing out the stash of it, I'm nearly convinced that he himself is drunk. My eyes focus on him, still trying to make sense of his reason and logic behind his actions.

"Why in Panem are you doing that?" The shrill words come out louder than I had anticipated but I do not correct my tone. "It is not your's to dispose of and anyway," my eyes flicker over to Haymitch, who still is surprisingly fast asleep, "if Haymitch were to find out what you did, I don't think I'd very much like the outcome of that."

Peeta's brow furrows, "I'll just have to risk the consequences of when he finds out," he shifts the box again, trying to get a better hold of it, "We can't risk having a drunkard on our team when it comes time for the Quarter Quell. We all need to be in the best mindset possible and alcohol definitely deters from that."

Before I have time to come up with a response, my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Not even seconds later, Katniss emerges from the doorway, in her hands three steaming mugs. The corners of my mouth twitch into a frown. Doesn't anyone knock anymore? Her eyes, that now that she's close enough, I can see are bloodshot, focus on Peeta, a look of confusion springing onto her face.

"Peeta?" she asks hoarsely, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm doing some spring cleaning," he says, a frown forming on his face, "I didn't think you'd be up this early after last night. Prim said you were out cold when I came by earlier to check on you."

"I'm up now." she mumbles quietly, "and I brought broth over from my mother for myself, Haymitch, and Effie. If I had known you'd be here, I'd brought one over for you too." I watch as her eyes lock on the box in Peeta's arms, "What's that?"

"Garbage." Peeta says simply, "I was just on my way to throw it out."

"Doesn't look like garbage," Katniss says, her eyes narrowing as she studies the box.

"It isn't," I tell her firmly, not bothering to say hello, "It's Haymitch's liquor. He entered the house without permission and decided upon taking it all. Now, you know I'm not one who is a fan of alcohol but-"

"And you're throwing it out?" Katniss interrupts, her voice raised, "Peeta, what business is it of your's what Haymitch does and doesn't do? None!"

"It became my business when you stumbled home drunk last night and put your hand through a window." Peeta says sternly, "We can't afford any drunkards when we go into the arena. Especially not you, Katniss."

Katniss's eyes grow large, "First of all, you are not responsible for my actions or what I do! And secondly, I am far from a drunk! I had a drink last night, that does not immediately make me someone who has a drinking probably!"

"I never said you did," Peeta says, "All I said was we can't risk it."

"That's not what it sounded like," Katniss shoots back.

I'm about to intervene when a loud grunt comes from the dining room table. "For the love of god," Haymitch groans, "can't I get some goddamn sleep in my own fucking house? My head already hurts enough as it is."

"Oh good," Katniss exhales, "You're awake just in time to see Peeta throw away all of your alcohol."

This seems to snap Haymitch out of any drunken stupor he's in. "He's going to do what?" He stands up so suddenly that his knees give way and he falls, catching himself on the table before hitting the ground.

Peeta nods, no sign of fear or worry in his expression, "And I've already informed the Ripper that if she were to sell either of you alcohol, I'd turn her into the Peacekeepers immediately. I paid her off handsomely too, just for good measure. I doubt she'll be eager to be back in the Peacekeepers' custody."

I shift uncomfortably where I stand, the baby nudging my full bladder rather strongly. Though the desire to go to the restroom increases, I fear if I leave the kitchen with all that is happening right now, a fight may ensue. So, using all of my willpower, I stay put and watch as Haymitch straightens up again, his eyes fixed on Peeta.

"What's the point of this," he growls, "of all the times for me to be sobering up, you sure picked the worst, boy."

"On the contrary," Peeta says, "The point is, two of us are coming home from the Capitol. One mentor and one victor. I already took the liberty of phoning Portia. She and Cinna are sending me the recordings of all of the living victors. We're going to watch their Games and learn everything we can about how they fight. We're going to put on weight and get strong. We're going to start acting like Careers."

"But training for the Games is against the rules," I interrupt, finding that politeness is not an important asset at this time, "if the Capitol were to find out-"

"The Capitol knows kids train for the Games, Princess," Haymitch mutters, "They're not that stupid. Quite frankly, don't think anybody really gives a rat's ass about it one way or another."

"No matter the case," Peeta says firmly, his arms gripping the boxes as he heads for the door, "One of us is going to be victor whether you two," his eyes flash to me, "-three, like it or not!" Somehow, even with his hands full, Peeta manages to open the door and slam it so loud that Katniss and Haymitch aren't the only ones to wince at the sound.

"Well," I breath, "that was quite rude."

"I don't like self-righteous people," Katniss mutters.

"What's there to like," agrees Haymitch as he attempts to suck whatever liquid remains in the surely empty bottle Peeta forgot on the table.

"You and me," Katniss says quietly, "That's who he plans on coming home."

"Well, then the jokes on him," says Haymitch.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask turning to Haymitch.

"You heard Katniss and me talking last night," he mumbles, "Interpret it how you want, Princess, but we both agreed that if anyone is going to make it out alive from this, it's going to be Peeta."

My stomach twists at his words. The thoughts of losing Haymitch flood back to my mind once more. Swallowing hard, I inhale deeply, I try to keep my voice as calm as I can. I do not want Haymitch to see me getting upset. Nor do I want Katniss to see it either. Right now, for whatever reason, the last thing I want them to think of me is weak.

"I need to go to the restroom," I tell them, "My bladder is not what it used to be."

Without another word, I hurry off to the bathroom. It's the only relief I've felt this morning. The relief of my now empty bladder. As I flush the toilet and go to wash my hands, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. I stop for a moment, examining my outward appearance. My thin frame that distorts outward at my midsection. How different I look. How unlike myself I feel.

When I finally return from the bathroom, I find that Katniss has left and only Haymitch remains in the kitchen. He looks at me as I walk over, the two cups of broth Katniss had brought for us sitting on the table. Probably, by now, lukewarm.

"She left," he mumbles, lifting is mug from the table, "took her mug with her. Said she wanted to be alone right now. Needed time to think." he takes a sip, "Can't say I blame her."

I lift my mug from the table, taking a sip myself. The broth is chicken, warm and filling. Though it's not something I really hoped for, for breakfast, it tastes much more delightful than I imagined.

"Are you going to do it then?" I ask, "The training?"

"Don't think I've got much of a choice," he replies as he takes another sip, "The boy's mind about all of this seems set in stone. Didn't ever think he'd be as stubborn as the girl. Guess that's the way all kids are."

"Do you really think so?" I ask, my hand that isn't holding the mug, finding its way to my stomach. His words made me wonder if that one day, it'd be our child who'd be acting in such a way. Though, not in the current circumstance that was occurring.

"Think what," he says, his eyes landing on my stomach, "That Half Pint there'll have an attitude?" With a single gulp, he finishes off the rest of the broth, "Wouldn't doubt it for a second."

"Half Pint?" I ask with confusion, "Who in Panem is Half Pint?" And at that moment, I realize who he has nicknamed that. "Oh no, Haymitch," I suck in a deep breath, "I will not allow you to use such a nickname as that for our child! It is not at all fitting nor appropriate! To give a child a pet name that could be associated with liquor, the thought of it's appalling!"

My displeasure in his name choice only seems to bring him amusement. "I don't see the issue,'' he shrugs, "Kid doesn't even have a name yet," he lets out a snort, "It's easier than just calling her 'the baby'. I'm sure it's some big thing in the Capitol to give your unborn children nicknames. I'm just going along with the fad. Thought you of all people would appreciate that."

"Not in that sense!" I gasp, "Not when you make a mockery of it!"

"Who said anything about me making a mockery of it?" And I swear he's smirking now. "I'm just trying to support your Capitol's sense of trends."

"And that's why trends die," I add tersely, "because people like you have to go about ruining them for your own gain!"

"You've found me out, Princess," he smirks, "Suppose you'll turn me into the Peacekeepers then?"

And I can't help but crack a small smile, "Unfortunately, I do not currently have that written into my schedule. Perhaps will schedule that for another time?"

He gives a small smile in return, "Perhaps we will."

And though there was that small spark of fun between Haymitch and me for a few seconds, any thought of the possibility of it happening again quickly fades when within just a short time frame, he and Katniss agree to the training Peeta has suggested. Not even Atala, the head trainer at the Capitol's, training courses are as rigorous, as time consuming, as what Peeta has in mind.

Everyday at the crack of dawn do they all get up, Haymitch with quite some effort, and begin their various exercises. It's strange to watch them, especially Haymitch. No one was ever allowed to watch the tributes train for the Games with the exception the Gamemakers so being able to observer the Victors of Twelve do it brings an entirely different insight into what goes on before the Games.

They don't seem to mind me looking on though. Or rather, are far too busy to even notice. Between hand-to-hand combat to scaling trees, of which took Haymitch quite sometime to master due to the abuse his body has put up with for all of these years, it seems as if they don't even take a moment to rest. And night time is not much different. Though, it's at this time that old film reels of the games are shown and Haymitch offers and information about each Victor he can.

Tonight, after many days of going through films, we've made it all the way up to the District Nine Victor videos. I sit beside Haymitch on the couch while Peeta and Katniss take up seats near by. Today's showing, Cotton Panski, victor of the 53th Hunger Games. I can't help but wince as the young seventeen year old raises a sickle and decapitates the District Three female tribute who didn't even realize he had snuck up behind her.

"And that," Haymitch concludes as the cannon sounds, "is why you never let your guard down. That was Cotton's strong suit. Stealth."

"The poor girl didn't even see it coming," I breath, my eyes fixed on the screen as they show Cotton rummaging through her supplies.

"It's better that way," Haymitch mumbles, "Makes death quick. Virtually painless. If, of course, you're lucky."

"Is there anything else we need to know about Cotton?" Peeta asks, a notebook open in his lap that he has been using to right down the facts about Victors.

Haymitch merely shakes his head, "Nothing that you already don't know. Man tends to keep to himself."

Peeta nods just as another cannon goes off. The boy from District Twelve, Birch Steele, met his demise by a muttation plant that's vines suffocated him to death. Katniss turns her head and looks at Haymitch.

"Did you know him?" she nods towards the screen. "Birch Steele."

Haymitch shrugs, "Lived a few houses down from mine. His mother came over once to ask my mother if she had any sugar to spare. Funny thing to ask since there never really is anything to spare."

Everyone is silent as the film drags on, kills shown almost every other ten minutes. Finally, after a good hour, the last two tributes, Cotton, and the male tribute from Four, are fighting it out. Cotton wins after slitting the boy's throat only minutes into the fight. The final cannon fires and Haymitch flips the television off just as Claudius Templesmith's voice begins to boom _"The Victor of the 53th Annual Hunger Games is..._"

"That's enough for tonight." Haymitch mutters, tossing the remote aside, "We can finish up District Nine tomorrow."

"I agree," Peeta says shutting his notebook, "It's gotten pretty late."

He and Katniss both stand up and after bidding Haymitch and I both a farewell, leave out of the front door. I lean back on the couch, my hands resting on my stomach as I watch Haymitch stand up and make his way over to the television.

"What are you doing?" I ask tiredly, not really wanting to sit up.

"Taking out the tape," he says, ejecting it from the player near the television. "One less thing to do tomorrow." He places it back in its rightfully case before setting it on a nearby table and walking back over to the couch. "And you are doing?"

"Yawning," I say from behind my hand, "I'm rather tired."

"Really? I couldn't tell." Haymitch says sarcastically, taking a sit beside me, "Go to bed then."

"I will in a minute." I mumble, shifting a little to get more comfortable. "I'm currently resting."

Haymitch snorts, "You resting? It's not like you've been running around all day throwing knives."

I inhale deeply, rolling my eyes at his comment. "It's not like you've been carrying a baby inside of you for almost a good six months. That is far more difficult then simple exercises."

"Too tired to argue with that," he mumbles, slouching down deep into the couch.

We're both silent for a few minutes. Neither of us really feeling the energy to get up. As I lean against the couch cushions, I feel the baby pressing against my bladder once more. Like her father, I believe she finds pleasure in causing me great discomfort.

"I don't appreciate it when she kicks my bladder," I murmur, sitting up more on the couch. "It's rather inconsiderate."

"Who? Half Pint?" he asks as I frown at the name.

"I told you not to refer to her as that but yes," I exhale, "right against my bladder as if I wasn't uncomfortable enough as it is. Like you, she seems to prefer to sleep in the morning rather than at night. Even when I'm sure she must be tired. Once she is old enough to understand, I will be going over the properness of manners needed not to keep other people up."

"You have fun doing that, Princess." he mumbles quietly.

There is silence between us once more. I close my eyes for a minute, trying to relax and ignore the fact that I'm not at all comfortable. As the baby nudges my side, I suddenly realize something. I have never offered Haymitch the chance to feel her kick. At least, since he is the father, I should give him the option.

"Can I see your hand please?" I ask, looking over at him.

"Afraid of the dark, Princess?" he muses, turning his head a little to look at me,

"No." I say pursing my lips, "I want you to feel the baby kick. I mean, if you want to that is. As her father, I should allow you to do such. It is only fair. But this does not allow you to have my permission to always to my stomach, mind you."

He pauses for a moment and I watch as he looks down towards my stomach. "Alright," he says after a minute, "Not like I have anything else exciting to do."

Ignoring his comment, I take his hand and place it over the spot of my stomach where I felt the last kick. "Just wait a moment..." I murmur, "She just kicked previously. Oh, if she decided to stop kicking at this moment, I truly will be... Oh there!" It is unmistakable bump that I feel so often now, "There, did you feel it?"

Haymitch's eyebrows raise and I know he must've felt it. Though, he says nothing for a few minutes, only keeps his hand against the apex of my stomach. Finally, he lifts his eyes to meet me, a small smile on his face that for some strange reason causes my heart to flutter.

"Well?" I ask softly, "May I ask your opinion?"

"Well," he says after a moment, "all of this damn training Peeta's been making me do has shown me one thing,'' he glances down at my stomach once more, his hand still resting on it gentle. "I have a hell of a lot more to do if I'm going to be able to keep up with Half Pint's energy."

Even though he called her Half Pint, I can't help but smile at his words.

**I promised I'd make this chapter longer. I made sure to add a good bit of baby talk since some of you requested that. And no, Half Pint isn't the baby's real name, it's just a nickname. I wanted to clarify that just in case someone misconstrued that bit of information. Next chapter is the one before the reaping and let me tell you, I have much planned. Next chapter contains the answers to many things such as what Haymitch was talking to Portia about and a long while back, I mentioned something about Snow? Well, that will be addressed next chapter! Anyway, feedback is greatly loved and appreciated (It's like an author's most important nutrition). I'm curious to know what you thought and maybe somethings you'd like to see. More baby talk? Hayffie fluff? Bring in more Portia and Cinna? Thanks for reading and keep an eye out for the next chapter!-Jen**


	21. Essence of Rose: Part One

**Okay, so, I've never done this before but there's a first for everything. I didn't realize this, but when I started working on this chapter, I soon discovered that it will be much longer than I had anticipated. So, because of this, I'm breaking it up into two parts (since there is so much stuff I want to put into it). I considered doing one large chapter but I kind of want to post something for you all since I haven't in about a week now. Anyway, just wanted to explain what was going on.**

** I'd like to take a moment to thank American Fantasy, Savysnape7, Minerva-Amantine, Rippl, Gabisamore, HB rules, Firing Rockets on Dragons, YvelissaBlossom, NaomiBlue, Eliza Ignis, cato, Welsh Gem, Doc95, DrawingAddict, HogwartsDreamer113, cinderella204, anon, June Bell, MetYouByACoin, thatiismahogany, br0503, JuhLillith, Narcissesme, asha74 , thepotionmaster7, iwastheexample, pinkish-red hearts, Aureleis, nekkuu, Fictional-Reality-Me, CriminalMindsChick6, Natureboy3,and XmadlyinloveX for the lovely feedback/reviews you gave me for the last chapter (or previous chapters you happened to review in the same time frame). I seriously appreciate all of the support you give to me. And now, without further ado, here is chapter twenty one, part one.**

Chapter twenty one: Essence of Rose (Part One)

Nowadays it seems as if there is never a single moment when either Katniss or Peeta are not in Haymitch's home. As the weeks drag on and the fate of the approaching Quarter Quell looms over our shoulders, whether it be discussion or some sort of physical training on their part, every second is spent preparing. Perhaps if I were in the Capitol, I too would be readying myself for the Games. Most likely planning some extravagant party to celebrate the events that are to come. But here in Twelve, no joy nor desire to rejoice fill me. Instead, my heart grows heavy with uncertainty and anguish as to what the future holds.

I try to hide my increasing worries from the others. Disguise my expression with a smile so they don't see that my stomach twists violently with the knowledge that it'll be me who draws their names from the reaping bowl, despite Haymitch's opposing this blame I've put on myself previously. In an attempt to block the dreadful thoughts that plague me, I have resorted to immersing myself in their training even more than I have been. I do not participate in their daily activities but rather look on and if need be, take to keeping track of their schedules that begin as early as dusk. And today, on this particular morning, when Peeta and Katniss arrive, I notice she as something gripped tightly in her hand.

"Good morning," Peeta greets us both with a nod as he and Katniss take their usual seats on the couch.

"Good is not the best adjective to use when describing the morning," Haymitch grumbles with annoyance, "but same to you."

I glance quickly over at Haymitch trying to suppress the frown that threatens to overtake my faux smile. His appearance is poor at most. Yellow tinted skin accompanied by the dark circles of exhaustion that bag underneath his eyes. If this training has done one thing for him, it's tire him out completely. Secretly, as distasteful as it is, I hold a slight grudge against Peeta for taking away his liquor. Maybe if he still had that luxury, he wouldn't look as miserable as he does.

"Madge has kindly lent us something," and my attention is suddenly brought back to the object Katniss was previously clutching as she tosses it onto the table, "a Capitol newspaper."

I can't help but gaze at the paper in awe. The brightly colored photos. The unmistakable swirls of text that laden the pages. It takes all my willpower to not up and grab it and devour what ever text of the newest fashion trends lay inside. No, my curiosity keeps me from that. It's impossible not to wonder why in Panem Katniss would take interest in such a thing as this? Perhaps my style of fashion has grown on her?

"A newspaper?" I shift a little where I sit to get a closer look. My swelling stomach making it more difficult to find a comfortable position. "What ever do you want that for?"

It's Haymitch who enters. "Predictions," he rubs his nose with the back of his hand and sniffs, "Am I right?"

"Predictions?" I ask, looking from each of the three people who also occupy the room, "of what may I inquire?"

"Us," Peeta replies simply as he takes the paper off the table, "of where we stand in the Capitolians' favors."

"Have you taken a look yet?" Haymitch mumbles, slouching deeper into the cushions, "not that I anticipate that I am highly ranked. Could care less really."

"No," Katniss replies, "we came straight here after Madge delivered it to us. The threat of Peacekeepers seeing us look at it on the streets was too great. It is, after all, illegal to possess Capitol information that is not authorized to the District Twelve public. And I doubt a lashing from Head Peacekeeper Thread would benefit any of us with the Quell approaching and all."

I gnaw gently on the inside of my cheek trying to ignore the fact that we are breaking yet another law by holding this paper in our possession. Attempting to focus on other thoughts, I eye the paper as Peeta opens it, my heart beginning to thump with anticipation as I await to hear the results.

"Ranking first with a collective vote of sixty three thousand citizens," Peeta reads, his eyes scanning the list of names etched in what appears to be gold ink, "Finnick Odair of District Four."

Haymitch scoffs at the name and I too, am not at all surprised. Beautiful, green eyed, bronze haired Finnick. There is absolutely no shock that out of all the remaining tributes living, he is the most favored. After all, he was and still is the youngest victor to have ever won the Games. To dislike him is almost considered criminal in the Capitol.

"Odair," Haymitch scratches absentmindly at his stubble, "no surprise there. The man's got practically every woman swooning in his wake. Whose next?"

"Ranking second," Peeta continues, "with a collective vote of fifty nine thousand citizens is our very own Katniss Everdeen of District Twelve."

An overwhelming sense of pride swells in me at the mention of Katniss ranking second out of fifty nine possible candidates. I look over at her and cannot help but beam. Gaining such a high group of supporters like she did surely ensures the high probability of sponsors for her.

"Oh Katniss," I exclaim, "Congratulations! How wonderful to be ranked second! You must be very pleased."

However, she does not return the enthusiasm. "Just means that I'll have higher expectations to uphold when we return to the Capitol."

I'm unsure of what she means by her statement but as I've learned before, I decide not to question it. After all, it has yet to be announced what Peeta and Haymitch ranked and that is far more important than the meaning of Katniss's words. Leaning back against the sofa, my hands resting on my stomach, I wait for Peeta to continue.

"I ranked sixth," he says after a few moments of scanning the list, "Right after Brutus of District Two, Cashmere of District One, and Enobaria of District Two," he goes silent again as he eyes the names once more, "and Haymitch ranked eleventh with a collective vote of forty two thousand citizens."

Eleventh place. Once again I swell with pride. Eleventh place isn't at all bad, considering Haymitch's age and current health. I look in his direction and smile brightly. I'm not sure how he has kept up a rather acceptable image with the public but I shall not question it.

"Eleventh place!" I say cheerfully, "That's an excellent number. Nothing there to complain about at all."

Haymitch merely grunts in reply, "Their statics about who will win are useless. Some of us they haven't seen compete in several decades. Damn people don't seem to understand skills deteriorate with age."

I frown softly at his words. With that attitude, he surely would lose sponsors. Not that, that would matter really. After all, as he and Peeta and Katniss had discussed, he wouldn't be returning to the arena. At least, I pray that, that will still be the case after the Reaping rolls around.

"Haymitch," It's Peeta's voice that breaks my trail of thought, "is there a chance, that going by these statics, the Capitol could alter the Reaping results so that those who are more favored enter the Games?"

I'm rather astonished by Peeta's words. The paranoia everyone around me seems to share about the Capitol is absurd. Perhaps it is wrong that they are to be put back into the reaping bowl but to question the rigging of it... They might as well accuse me of this madness since I will be the one in charge of drawing names.

"No," I reply tersely, "absolutely not. There is no way such a thing could happen. The idea of it is just silly!"

"Maybe not with District Twelve," Haymitch remarks sternly, "but it sure as hell wouldn't be any surprise to me if it happened. I've seen worse things happen."

I inhale sharply at his words, "Honestly, you all act as if the Capitol is against every district in Panem. How silly you all sound. Have you heard yourselves? I do agree that this Quell is wrong on many levels but the Capitol shouldn't be blamed for all of this wrong doing."

"When you finally stop using so much magenta mascara and open your eyes, maybe you'll see there's more to what you're told to believe, Princess." Haymitch replies gruffly.

Silence falls over the room as no one has a word to say to one another. My blood boils with anger over the stupidity of Haymitch. Yes, the Capitol has made some rather questionable decision but it is still my home. My birth place. And he owes me at least the respect of that. After a few minutes of the awkwardness in the air, Peeta is the one to pierce the quiet by clearing his throat.

"We should celebrate our high predictions," he says, "take the day off from training. There are a few things I agreed to go and help my father with anyway. A rather large baking order. And besides, I think some rest would do us all some good. It's well deserved after all."

Though I am furious with Haymitch, I nod in agreement with Peeta. Rest will do Haymitch some good. Do all of them some good. And perhaps after a restful day, the realization that their accusations involving the Capitol are false. At least, I could hope for as much.

"I second that notion," I say, "I believe some rest will benefit us all."

"Then it's settled," Katniss says rising up, "training will be put off until tomorrow."

Peeta too stands up and steps over to Katniss's side, "If there's anything either of you need," he says, "I'm just over at my father's bakery. We'll meet again tomorrow morning at the usual hour. Rest up," he says more to Haymitch than me.

After a quick farewell, Peeta and Katniss depart from the house. I watch the doorway where they exited for a moment, finding their leaving rather sudden. My eyes fall onto the table where Katniss has left behind the newspaper, it's pages still folded onto the Quell predictions.

"That'll burn nicely in the fireplace," Haymitch mumbles as I reach for it.

The corners of my mouth twitch into a frown as I lift it up gingerly, "Well then, it's unfortunate that you will not have the chance to ignite it then." I carefully fold it up how it was previously and place it off to the side out of Haymitch's reach. "I, unlike you, prefer to keep things of importance rather than turn them to ash. Capitol papers are rather expensive, you know. I would not at all be surprised if real gold was in the ink used to print out the prediction's list."

"And I wouldn't be surprised if several people died mining that gold for your _precious _paper," he shoots back.

I'm about to reply to his snide remark when a knock at the front door silences us both. I glance over at the entrance curious as to who it could possibly be this early in the morning. Perhaps it's Peeta and Katniss coming back to retrieve the paper they have forgotten? Then again, they never knock anymore. I stare to push myself up when Haymitch holds out his hand to stop me.

"Come in," he calls out in a gruff voice.

"I would have been more than happy to have just gone and opened the door," I say to him, "it would've been the polite thing to do."

He shrugs, "Easier just to yell," he mumbles as the front door creaks open.

Pursing my lips slightly, I look towards the door. To my surprise, Hazelle enters looking rather frazzled with a small girl, no older than the age of five, clasping onto her hand. From the unmistakable resemblance the two share, I know at once that the small child is none other than Posy Hawthorne, Hazelle's daughter.

"I'm so sorry," Hazelle exhales, her hand grasping onto the child's tightly, "I know I'm late and though it's no excuse, it's due to the fact that the woman who usually watches Posy while her brothers and I are away has fallen ill and cannot keep an eye on her today."

Posy peers over at Haymitch and me from her mother's side. As if pleased by some unknown entertainment, she giggles before hiding her face in her against her mother's leg, peeking out occasional at us with a shy smile. I smile softly at her. Seeing her brings back the memory of the two little girls I met in District Eleven those many months back. I can't help but wonder what ever became of them.

"Don't worry about it, Hazelle," Haymitch says sitting up, "it's not an issue. If you can't work today, I'm sure eating her food for one day," he nods towards me, "won't cause both of my kidneys fail."

I throw Haymitch a dirty look, "Manners," I hiss softly before turning my attention back to Hazelle, "but Haymitch is right. If you are unable to clean today, we completely understand." My eyes fall upon the little girl who still playfully cowers behind her mother, "I believe everyone needs a day off from their usual tasks. Call it a rest day if you will."

Hazelle chuckles tiredly, "I wish I could rest today. Wouldn't that be lovely? But I'm afraid that there is a pile of laundry that awaits for me at home to wash. Of course, I am completely grateful that now people have begun to come back to me for their clothes washing. What ever brings the money in," she smiles down at Posy before ruffling her hair, "I have, after all, four mouths to feed."

"Me!" Posy suddenly chimes in, "And Vick! And Rory! And Gale! That makes four! Right mama?"

"Yes," Hazelle smiles, "that it does."

Posy smiles over at Haymitch and me, the shyness suddenly disappearing, "I can count," she tells us proudly, "my mom says I'm the best counter in all of District Twelve! I can count up to twenty! That's a really big number. It's probably the biggest number ever!"

I laugh softly, "Well, that is very impressive. Perhaps one day, when you're older of course, you'll make a mighty fine banker. Maybe I'll even transfer all of my funds into your bank."

Posy shakes her head giggling, "Nope, I don't want to be a banker. I want to be president! President Posy! My brother Gale says it has a nice ring to it 'cept I don't know what ring he's talking about. I hope whatever ring it is, it has diamonds."

"Very ambitious for such a young girl," I say to Hazelle, "that's a very good quality to have."

"And it keeps me on my toes," she smirks, her hand resting on Posy's head, "Well, Posy, we best be getting off. I have a lot of work to do at home."

"Awe," Posy pouts, ''work is boring. Why can't we play today? You're always working, mama. I want to play."

"Now you know I can't today," Hazelle says with a soft frown, "Maybe tomorrow we can? But today, I need you to be a good girl and let mama finish up some things at home? Can you do that for me please?"

Poor Hazelle. I hadn't realized until this moment how hard she actually works. It's as if she never has a moment to relax. As I watch her trying to convince Posy that she'll spend time with her tomorrow, an idea comes to mind. An idea that would not only benefit Hazelle, but also Haymitch and me.

"Hazelle," I say, "if you'd like, Haymitch and I could keep an eye on her for you. It wouldn't be a problem at all. And," I quickly add before she can interject, "it'll give you some peace and quiet while you do the loads of laundry you have. I don't see a downside to it."

Hazelle's quiet for a moment. Her eyes flicker from Haymitch and me to Posy and then back to us. Then, slowly, a smile creeps up onto her face. She glances down at Posy once more and gives her hair another ruffle.

"Would you like that, Posy?" she asks gently, "to play with Ms. Trinket and Mr. Abernathy today?"

Posy's eyes light up at the word play, "Yes!" she squeals, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" she bounces excitedly, her arms wrapping around her mother's leg and she sway back and forth.

"And you both really don't mind?" Hazelle asks, "she can be quite a handful..."

I look over at Haymitch who, to my surprise, merely shrugs. I thought that maybe if anyone would be against the idea of watching the child, it would've been him. Perhaps he too sees this as practice for the future. Or, of course, just wants to help Hazelle out. Whatever the case may be, I'm just pleased that he's agreeing to this.

"Of course we don't mind," I assure her, "it would be our pleasure."

"Alright," Hazelle chuckles as Posy unhooks herself from her leg, "but if she's any trouble, don't hesitate to bring her back to me," I watch as she kneels down at eye level with Posy, "now, remember your manners and don't misbehave for Ms. Trinket and Mr. Abernathy, you hear? Be a good girl."

Posy stands tall, "I'm always a good girl," she says proudly.

Hazelle smiles softly, "Well, stay that way, okay? Try not to talk their heads off. I want to be invited back here," she rises from the ground and looks over at us, "I cannot thank you both enough for doing this for me. I am forever in your debt."

"Don't mention it, Hazelle," Haymitch says, "and you owe us no debt. After all, it's you whose kept edible food in this household. Just go and enjoy a few hours of child-free work time."

Hazelle smiles warmly, "I shouldn't take too long. Whenever you're tired of her, you know where to drop her." She stoops down and places a kiss on Posy's forehead, "Behave," she whispers before standing back up straight, "I'll see you all later. Thanks so much again."

I watch as Hazelle disappears from sight, the boom of the door shutting announcing her departure. After a few moments, Posy ventures closer to us, hands curled softly at her side. I give her a soft smile, suddenly unsure of what to do next. It's the first time that I've ever watched a child under the age of twelve. Since, of course, no five year old has ever been admitted into the Hunger Games. I quickly glance over at Haymitch, who, by the look of uncertainty in his eyes, has just about as much of a clue as I do. My stomach begins to churn with the realization that I'm unsure of how to handle a child at all.

"Ms. Trinket? Mr. Abernathy?"

I hear Posy calling me back to my senses. Inhaling deeply, I turn to face her. A smile plastered on my face to hide the fact that I have no knowledge in this department. Today, right now, is going to be a test on both my and Haymitch's parenting skills. Something, I fear, that neither of us are equipped with.

**I actually wasn't planning to bring Posy into this chapter. It just sort of came to me while I was taking my English exam yesterday. I thought that by bringing her in, would allow me to write about Effie and Haymitch's different takes on how to care for a child (or whatever you want to call that?) Anyway, part two will have that in there along with Effie's birthday, more baby talk, an insight into the Snow thing I've been talking about, Hayffie fluff, and answers to questions left out in previous chapters (all will make sense later, I promise). Oh, and if anyone is curious, Effie is currently twenty three weeks pregnant. Anywho, I hope you enjoyed part one. Feedback is greatly appreciated (and energizes my fingers for writing *insert winky face here*). I'm always curious to know what your favorite parts were and what you'd like to see. I shall getting working on part two after I come back from my second exam today.-Jen**


	22. Essence of Rose: Part Two

**The excitement one feels when they wake up in the morning to see that their story has gone over 500 reviews! I seriously cannot thank you all enough. I'm literally grinning ear to ear right now. Thank you all who have contributed to this number and a huge thanks to anchan-apple, XmadlyinloveX, shesetfiretothegames, mage-luna, Savysnape7, Minerva-Amantine, HB rules, Fanfic Allergy, gabisamore, grumpirah, iwastheexample, mannersandmahoganyx, PhoenixRisingOnTheMoon, thepotionmaster7, Adessa101, Hayffielover, HogwartsDreamer113, TheMyification, anon, DrawingAddict, katie476, Firing Rockets On Dragons, American Fantasy, TheGirlWhoWasOnFire21, MetYouByACoin, A Silver Cloud's Lullaby, asha74, June Bell, anon, SusansAmazin, nekkuu, Rogue1221, noctuas, Aureleis, Joshissmexy92, Narcissesme, effies-scrapbook, Ember Belli, and YvelissaBlossom for your lovely and ever so inspiring feedback. Also, thank you to those who wished me luck on my exams. They went quite smoothly and better than I had anticipated. Without further ado, here is chapter twenty one, part two.**

Chapter twenty one: Essence of Rose (Part Two)

For a few seconds, I do nothing but smile at Posy, my mind racing as I contemplate my next move. Entertaining adults came easy to me. Parties. Early morning tea gatherings. Pleasing those who are my age came naturally to me. Entertaining children on the other hand is a completely different scenario. They, unlike adults, have attention spans that are as short as the longevity of fads in the Capitol.

"Well," I say after awhile, "it's quite a joy to have you here, Posy. You mentioned earlier that you wish to play?"

She gives a simple nod of her head. Her lips curling into a happy smile.

"And what," I venture, "does that exactly entail?"

It, of course, had been years since I had been a child. My memories of that time long ago are vague at most. And I highly doubt that the things I had enjoyed would bring the same pleasure to Posy as they did to me. After all, children of the Seam region mostly likely haven't the pleasure of the fine Capitol trinkets and toys. And because of this, I can't help but feel pity towards them. How deprived they must be.

"I don't have a tail."

The sudden and unexpected statement pulls me from my trance. Blinking, I glance down to see Posy watching me, her expression one of great curiosity. I too stare back at her curiously, not at all understanding her blunt words. Perhaps I have heard her wrong. After all, I do tend to zone out and refocus in onto parts of conversations.

"Pardon?" I ask with confusion.

"I don't have a tail," she repeats a matter-of-factly, "I don't think anyone does."

I can hear Haymitch chuckling from beside me. The corners of my lips twitch a little, threatening to turn into a frown. As if he were being any help at the moment. Doing my best to ignore his rather rude behavior, I turn my attention back to Posy in the hopes of having her to clarify her rather odd choice of words.

"I'm afraid I do not follow," I say to her, "what ever do you mean you don't have a tail, dear? Have I missed something?" And whether it's the thought of Haymitch laughing at me or the fact that I am having troubles following a five year old's conversation, my cheeks begin to burn with the heat of embarrassment.

"Gotta dumb it down talking to kids, Princess," Haymitch says from the couch, "not everyone can speak Capitolese." I watch as he sits up more and turns to Posy, "Sorry about her," he jabs a thumb in my direction, "what she was trying to ask is, and I'm just guessing here, but what sort of things do you like to do-playing wise?"

Posy's eyes light up with what I assume is understanding. "Well, I like to do lots of stuff," she exclaims, "Climbing trees, hide and go seek, um..." she pauses as if thinking for a moment, "I like to...I like to...well, what kinds of stuff do you have here?"

"Not much I'm afraid," I tell her, "We haven't any toys or anything of that sort. Not yet anyways," I place my hand gingerly on my stomach and await her reply.

"Hm..." her lips purse as she eyes me curiously, "Well, how about dress up?"

"Dress up?" I question, "in what exactly?"

"Well..." she points to the top of my head, "How about that?"

Curiously, I reach up only to feel the permanently gelled curls of my wig. Surely she isn't referring to using my expensive, flamingo pink hairpiece as an object of entertainment. I glance down at her quickly to see that her eyes, large and full of wonder, definitely are locked on the object my fingers touch.

I swallow hard, a new feeling of dread suddenly blossoming inside of me, "You wish to...to wear my wig?" My hands go up, carefully resting on either side of the perfectly moussed ringlets in a poor attempt of trying to conceal them. "Perhaps that's not the best idea, dear. You see, it's very important that a lady keep her wig in perfect condition. They are quite high maintenance and if a single curl is frayed the slightest, then, well...perhaps I shall keep the horrors of going to repair it to myself."

"Oh please, Ms. Trinket?" Posy pleads, "I promise to be extra careful with it. I just want to try it on. Please?"

Posy stares up at me with doe-like eyes, her arms swaying back and forth as she raises herself up onto the tips of her toes. A lump begins to form in my throat. Though I would never voice it allowed, it's not really the wig I am that far concerned about. It's my natural, plain, blonde hair that hides underneath it. Looking so simple is frowned deeply upon in the Capitol and though I am not currently taking residence there, I still feel obligated to uphold the high expectations they have.

"Oh, I don't know, dear..." I shift uncomfortably where I stand, "I do also think I'd look rather silly without it on. Perhaps there's another activity you'd like to do instead?"

She merely shakes her head, her arms constricting around themselves over her chest. "There's nothing else I want to do," she states, "I want to try the wig on. Please, I promise to be careful."

"C'mon, Princess," Haymitch smirks, "Let the kid try on the wig. _Humor_ her."

"Please?" Posy adds, "Only for a teeny, tiny second?"

I inhale sharply, feeling my body stiffen as I do so. Not only did Posy wish for me to take off my wig but Haymitch too. Frowning softly, I gently grip the base of it. If anyone were to care less about how I looked without my signature curls, it would be Haymitch and Posy. As much as I didn't desire to, I felt inclined to give her the luxury of trying it on. Even if only for a second.

"Oh, all right..." I mutter, sliding it off with ease, "But know that I don't do this for just anyone. I will not be making a practice of allowing others to simply try on my own personal wigs. This is a one time thing, I assure you."

Posy's smile is so broad now that as I reach down and carefully place my wig on top of her head, I can't help but wonder if it pains her to grin so. Ignoring the thought, I carefully push the long strands of her brown hair up and under the net of the it, doing my best to conceal her natural hair as I must do for my own. Maybe one day it'll be my child instead of Posy I'll be doing this for.

"There," I breathe, taking a step back once I'm mostly satisfied, "I must say, it does quite suite you. Wigs always add in that extra splash of color that brings out one complexion."

Posy twirls around in excitement, "I'm wearing a wig! I'm wearing a wig!" she sings out sounding rather pitchy, "How do I look?" she asks, pivoting on one foot to face Haymitch.

Haymitch raises an eyebrow and purses his lips slightly, "Capitol," he mumbles.

Posy beams with pride, "Did you hear that, Ms. Trinket? Mr. Abernathy says I look Capitol! Do I look like I'm from there? Do I?"

I give her a small smile, "With a little bit of make-up and a Jean Paul Gaultier outfit, perhaps even I'd mistaken you for one of the citizens there."

Posy giggles, "I like this wig a lot," she exclaims, "But..." and I watch as her travel over to Haymitch, "I want to see Mr. Abernathy wear it now!"

At first, I'm a little stunned. Why in Panem would she wish to see Haymitch wearing my wig? With how shabby and unclean cut he is, wearing such a thing would cause him to stick out like a sore thumb. But, I realize, it would also cause him some displeasure. As un-ladylike and improper as it is, I can't help but smile at the thought of taking the slightest bit of revenge on Haymitch for all the aggravations he has caused me. Even if it did involve my marvelous wig.

"Nah," Haymitch mumbles from the couch, "looks much better on you then it would on me, kid. You don't want to see me wearing that thing."

"Yes I do!" Posy interjects, "I think you'd look beautiful!"

"Oh I quite agree, Haymitch," I say cheerfully, "I think a wig would be quite becoming on you."

"Please, Mr. Abernathy?'' Posy pleads, "Just this once? You'd look so pretty! Ms. Trinket even said so!"

"I'd prefer to be ugly, kid." Haymitch mutters, "but don't let that stop you from wearing the wig yourself."

"Oh come on, Haymitch," I say, trying my best to contain my enjoyment, "If you'll allow me to quote you from earlier. If I remember correctly, I do believe the words you used were '_humor her_'."

Haymitch says nothing but instead, furrows his brow and glares at me in utter disgust. There's the leap of triumph as I take this as his unwilling acceptance to the demands set by Posy and me. I'm not sure why he is being so submissive at the moment, but if I spend the time questioning this, he could change his mind.

"The wig, if you'd please, Posy," I say extending my hand.

Giggling, Posy gently hands me the wig and I make my way over to Haymitch. He doesn't even look at me as I go about placing it on his head and adjusting his hair underneath it. A few time, if I'm not mistaken, he mutters something that's almost inaudible but surely a vulgar word towards me. I, of course, like most anyone in their right mind should, choose to ignore it. When I'm satisfied with my work, I take a step back to admire what I've done.

"Oh Mr. Abernathy," Posy gushes, "You look just like a...a princess!"

I place a hand over my mouth in an attempt to conceal my giggles. Haymitch, slouching furiously as he sports the bright pink wig on top of his head. The color isn't fitting towards him but even so, it brings me the utmost amusement.

"You look dashing," I exclaim, clasping my hands together, "Very stunning! Why, perhaps when we travel to the Capitol in a few weeks, I'll make an effort to stop at one of the many salons and purchase you a fine wig to wear. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

"It'd look _lovely_ in the fire I'd burn it in," he grumbles, "now take your wig back. I swear, it's giving me an allergic reaction or something."

He rips it off and holds it out to me. Frowning a little, I take it back and go to adjusting it back onto my head. At least I had the luxury of those few moments of amusement. As I push the last lock of my hair up under it, I hear a small sigh come from Posy. Concerned, I turn to see her looking towards the ground, her shoulders slightly slumped.

"Why, what ever is the matter, dear?" I ask worriedly, "are you hurt? Sick? Upset?"

"No," she exhales, "just bored."

"Bored?" I ask with confusion, "why, I thought we were having so much fun. You seemed like you were a few moments ago."

"I was a few moments ago," she says peering up at me, "but now I want to do something else." I watch as she glances towards the window, "Can we go for a walk outside please?"

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. For the several weeks I had been staying here, I've made of practice of not venturing any further than the Victor's Village unless it was needed. The idea that Peacekeepers loomed over every corner of every building with guns cocked and loaded did not set any welcoming standards with me.

"Well... I'm not sure, dear. Perhaps there is something you'd rather do that's inside?" But the frown that appears on her lips tells me there isn't. "I just am unsure of if taking a stroll through the District is such a good idea at this time." I had been nudged once by a rifle in District Eleven, I'd rather not receive more than that here in Twelve.

"We can go to the meadow," Posy says hopefully, "it's nice and quiet there. Gale takes me there sometimes when he's not in the mines. One time, I even saw fireflies."

I look to Haymitch, unsure of if the place Posy talks of is really all that safe. "Well," I address him, "what do you think about all of this? You know where she's talking about more than I do."

He merely shrugs in response, "Unless the Peacekeepers have decided to go as far as to hide in groundhog holes, I don't see an issue."

I frown softly before turning my attention back to Posy, "All right," I exhale, "I suppose a small walk wouldn't do any harm." My words are met by a squeal of delight from Posy. As she bounces with excitement, I turn back to Haymitch, "You will be joining us, I assume?"

"Don't think I have much of a choice," he grunts, pushing himself up to a standing position.

The air outside is surprising very warm for the beginning of Spring. Though it's quite a relief to have that over the frigid temperatures I've experienced these past several weeks in Twelve, I can't find myself enjoying it. As we walk down the dirt path towards where Posy's meadow is, I find myself fretting the idea of being watched by the many Peacekeepers who lurk about.

"I like Spring," Posy says taking my hand, "Don't you, Ms. Trinket? Aren't all of the flowers that come up pretty? My mom likes it when I pick some for her. She puts them in the kitchen. Do you put flowers in the kitchen too?"

I inhale deeply, trying to focus on other thoughts rather than fear. I look to Posy and force a small smile. At least one of us didn't seem so concerned as to the possibility of being shot at.

"Well, I can't say that I've ever done that before," I tell her, "but I bet they look awfully pretty in your kitchen."

She gives a firm nod, "And they smell really good too! I'll pick you some when we get to the meadow so you can put them in your kitchen! Okay, Ms. Trinket?"

My faux smile fades into a genuine one. "Well that would be just lovely. Thank you, Posy."

We walk in silence for a few more minutes with Posy grasping one of my hands in her's and Haymitch's in her other. To someone who doesn't recognize any of us, perhaps, for a moment, they'd mistaken us for a real family. But then again, Posy holds no resemblance to either one of us.

"Ms. Trinket, Mr. Abernathy?" Posy pipes up suddenly, "What's it like being married?"

I stop abruptly where I stand when I hear her words. Married? What in Panem is she talking about? I'm not married to anyone. Far from it. And Haymitch holds the same relationship position I do. I look down at her with what I'm sure is a look of great confusion.

"Married? My dear, neither Mr. Abernathy or myself are married." I explain.

"But you're having a baby," she says pointing towards my stomach, "Why aren't you married? My mom says babies come from a husband and wife. Is that not true? Is she wrong?"

I feel my blood heating up in my cheeks, "Well, I..." And I'm not too sure what to say next. How does one explain to a five year old that sometimes, when an accident of sorts ensues, a woman finds herself carrying a child out of wedlock? "Your mother is neither right nor wrong. I..."

"There are many different types of families, kid." Haymitch finishes for me, "that may not make sense to you now, but it will one day."

Thankfully, we reach the meadow just as Posy opens her mouth, I'm sure, to question Haymitch and me further. Before I even have time to get another word out to her, she releases her grip on both of our hands and zooms off through the many dandelions and buttercups that laden the field.

"Posy, be careful! Perhaps you shouldn't run!" I call out without a hope of her hearing me.

"Let the kid be, Princess," Haymitch says plopping down on the grass, "if she falls, she falls. It'll be a learning experience for her."

"I just don't think getting hurt is an experience anyone should learn," I mumble as I lower myself down beside Haymitch, "Perhaps we should set some ground rules about being out here. I'd prefer it if we returned her to Hazelle in the condition she came to us in."

"She's not an object, Princess," Haymitch says, "I'm sure Hazelle will not ask for a replacement if the kid comes back with a few scratches."

We both watch as Posy spins around in a circle not but a few yards away from us. Butterflies fluttering off as she tramples the flowers they once drew nectar from. She looks like she's really enjoying herself, or so I hope. Inhaling softly, I try to shift into a better sitting position, hoping that I don't receive grass stains on my fine clothes in doing so.

"Do you suppose she's having fun?" I ask Haymitch as I see Posy leap over a cluster of daisies. "I just worry she isn't enjoying herself."

Haymitch snorts, "Are you watching her, Princess? She looks like she's having the time of her life out there. Best part is, I don't have to put on a wig to make sure of that."

I exhale, laying a hand over my stomach, "I suppose you're right."

We fall silent again, our eyes trained on Posy as she frolics around the meadow seemingly without a care in the world. I can't help but think back to her question. Her wondering of the nonexistent marriage I have with Haymitch. Would he and I ever become husband and wife? It's a silly thing to be considering with all that has been going on lately. There are far greater concerns such as the approaching Quarter Quell to be thinking of. I close my eyes for a minute, trying to clear my mind. I must've fallen asleep for when I open my eyelids flutter open, the sky is no longer bright blue, but a hazy orange as the sun sets.

"Taking naps on the job, Princess?"

Blinking, I look up to realize that I'm laying on Haymitch's lap. With my cheeks burn in embarrassment, I sit up quickly wondering how I went from my sitting position to full blown laying out on the grass with my head on Haymitch. Brushing off blades of grass that have made their way on my clothing, I do my best to avoid Haymitch's gaze.

"Yes, well, I was just resting my eyes," I assure him, "Nothing more than that."

"Sure, Princess," from the tone of his voice, I know he's smirking at me.

It's at this moment I realize that I no longer can see Posy playing in the meadow. Fear suddenly hits me hard as my stomach twists in compliance. Had she wondered off while I rested? I whip around to face Haymitch, ready to chew him out for letting her out of his sight when I notice he's pointing towards his feet. Curious, I glance down and to my surprise, with her cheek pressed against his ankle, is Posy fast asleep.

"She's been out cold for at least a good two hours," he tells me, "just sort of wondered over and fell asleep like that. Not sure how my ankle is at all comfortable though."

A pang of regret hits me as I realize that I almost screamed at Haymitch for absolutely no reason. After all, he hadn't been the one who nodded off while on child watch. I advert my gaze from Posy and look to him. He stares back, his expression void of any emotion. I truly wish I knew what he is thinking at the moment.

"We should get her back to Hazelle," he mumbles suddenly, looking up at the sky, "it's getting late out and if she comes by the house to find us gone, that wouldn't be the best thing."

To my surprise, I watch as he leans over and with great ease, manages to lift Posy up without disturbing her before standing himself. He adjusts his hold on her before extending a hand towards me. Feeling even more regret, I take it and stand as he pulls me upright.

"Thank you," I say quietly, watching as Posy nuzzles her face against his neck in her sleep. "For all that you've done today. I feel terrible that I really didn't help."

"I didn't really do much either," he says as we begin to walk, "just kept an eye on her while she played. Not hard work at all."

"She really seems to be quite fond of you," I comment, "it's quite sweet, really."

He grunts in reply, "Not sure why she is. Not like there's a reason to be."

I frown softly at his words. Why he enjoys putting himself down, I will never know. As we continue to walk down the path, I find myself growing tired once more. I don't remember the walk being this long when we traveled upon the trail earlier today. Haymitch seems to sense my exhaustion for he turns to me, Posy still fast asleep in his arms.

"You can go back to the house if you want," he says gruffly, "I can take her back to Hazelle's. There's something I need to take care of anyway."

Curious as to what business he has to attend to but to tired to question, I simply nod my head. When we arrive back at Victor's Village, we depart from each other with Haymitch continuing down the path towards the direction of the Seam. For a moment, I watch him disappear down the hill wondering if perhaps I should have gone.

Yawning, I push open the door to Haymitch's home and climb my way up the steps. For all I know, Haymitch's errand he needs to take care of involves him going to some secretive place to get a drink. There's no need for me to stay awake and wait for him to come home. I undress out of my attire and crawl into bed, to exhausted to bother to have dinner. It's not long after that the blanket of unconsciousness pulls me under.

When I awake to the new day, a strange sense of uneasiness fills me. Quickly, I pull on one of my dresses, its fabric stretched uncomfortably tight over my stomach, and make my way down the stairs. As soon as my foot touches the ground, I am met by a sight that I am not at all prepared for.

The living room has been draped in various thin cloths of color. On the wooden table, surrounded by various decorations, sits a cake lavishly covered in plump purple blackberries. Confusion fills me as I take in all that surrounds me. What in Panem is going on? Is this some odd new training exercise Peeta has come up with? As I step forward to examine the cake further, my curiosity is interrupted by a sudden, but loud, exclamation.

"Happy birthday!"

Whipping around in surprise, I see to my astonishment that the once empty room that I entered is now filled with none other than Peeta, the Everdeens, Hazelle and Posy, and even a shockingly awake Haymitch. It's at this moment my stomach drops in realization. I, Effie Trinket, have forgotten my very own, thirty eighth birthday.

"You look confused, Princess," Haymitch smirks, "did you not remember what today was?"

I had forgotten. I can't believe I had forgotten. In the Capitol, birthdays were so highly celebrated that weeks were spent planning the parties in advance. I myself was one to throw the most extravagant banquets when my birthday rolled around each year. But with all that was happening in my life at the moment, it just slipped my mind this time.

"Of course not!'' I almost snap, "who forgets their own birthday?"

Hazelle strides forward and pulls me into a hug, "Happy birthday, dear," she smiles, "we spent all morning preparing this. I wouldn't be surprised if your Haymitch got any sleep last night. He was so busy after dropping Posy off last night. Which reminds me, thank you so much again for watching her."

I glance over my shoulder and see Haymitch picking one of the blackberries off of the cake before popping it into his mouth. Had he actually gone to all of the great lengths to throw me a party? I never expected something like this from him. If anything surprises me the most, it is that.

"Unfortunately, Cinna and Portia couldn't show up but they send their warmest wishes and the happiest birthday hopes," Mrs. Everdeen says taking a step forward, a box wrapped in silvery foil in her hands, "and Portia also sent this along."

I give a word of thanks to her as I take the box curiously. It's rather large to hold something such as jewelry in and as I open the lid, I find pleasantly the reason why the gift needed such a large container. There, sitting comfortably on a holder, is a metallic gold wig. Something, I know, must've cost a pretty penny.

"Oh," I breathe, pulling it gently from the box, "it's beautiful!''

Before I even have time to admire it further, Prim steps forward with another box. It's wrapping brown and plain, not at all like Portia's. I know at once it must be from the Everdeens.

"This is from all of us," Prim smiles warmly, "from the Everdeens I mean."

Gingerly, I set the wig back into its box and take the gift from Prim. Carefully, I tear the brown paper way and pull back the lid. Inside, folded ever so neatly, is a knitted white blanket. So simple and yet so perfect. I know at once why this has been given to me, and Prim's next statement proves that.

"For the baby," she says, "Mother thought you'd be needing something nice to wrap her or him in when they're born. It's very soft too. Even at my age, I wish I had a blanket like that."

"It's perfect," I whisper, sliding my hand underneath one of the soft folds, "I love it. Thank you," I look to the entire Everdeen family, "All of you."

"Guess it's my turn now?" Haymitch suddenly speaks, stepping forward.

For the first time, I see that he too is holding a box. I take in the long, white rectangular shape of it. Slightly concerned as to what it contains, I force a smile and inhale deeply.

"Oh Haymitch, you didn't have to get me anything."

He grunts, "Felt inclined to," is all he says as he presses it into my arms, "Go on, open it."

Carefully, I undo the ribbon that binds the lid to the bottom. It slides to the floor as I carefully remove the cover that conceals the gift. I glance inside to see something folded, it's color a deep persimmon. Heart pounding, I set the box on the couch and pull out the fabric to find that the rosy orange cloth belongs to that of a dress.

"Oh Haymitch..." I whisper.

The sleeves are heavily ruffled and appear to fall right to where my forearms will sit. The collar of it, a thick peach lace that forms almost a spiderweb pattern over my bosom. And the bottom, a softer persimmon than the top, flows downward with the tips being that of dyed peacock feathers. I look to Haymitch, my eyes threatening to tear up at the joy of such a gift.

"That's what I was talking to Portia the night of the photoshoot," he replies gruffly, "needed her help on designing a dress. Wanted to get you something that actually fit. It came last night in the mail. She and Cinna must've added the finishing touches on it the other day or something. Maybe you can wear it to the Reaping, I don't know."

"It's more amazing than words can describe," I whisper, gently folding the dress back up, "I...I don't know what to say."

He shrugs and if I'm not mistaken, I think that maybe he's blushing a little underneath his stubble, "Most people usually say thanks when they receive gifts."

I set the dress down back in its box before striding over and wrapping my arms around Haymitch in a hug. I'm not sure what possesses me to do only that it's the only way I seem to find fit to express my gratitude. After a few seconds, I feel the awkward pats of his hand on my back. I assume my hug took him by surprise.

"Thank you," I whisper against his shoulder, ignoring the smell of his musty clothes.

"Least I could do," he mumbles in reply.

As I pull away from Haymitch, Peeta steps forward sporting a rather large brown sack. He walks past me and over to the couch where he proceeds to dump the contents of it out onto the cushions. I realize at once that all of the slips of colored paper are envelopes.

"Portia took the liberty of mailing all of your birthday cards here," Peeta says to me with a smile, "can't say that I've ever seen so many in my life before. You must be very popular in the Capitol."

I smile at his words as I walk over to the couch, "Well, I do have quite a large group friends," I state, eyeing the mass pile of letters that litter the couch.

An array of different colored envelopes sit in front of me, each adorned with their own personal stamp. I take a minute to flip through some of them, deciding it best to open them later. As I am about to turn away and declare to the others that perhaps now would be quite a lovely time to indulge in that delectable cake I'm sure Peeta made, a large white letter with the words '_Official Postage of the Capitol of Panem' _painted in gold ink catches my eyes. Curiously, I lift it from the pile and slide my finger underneath the crease. When I pull it up, a thick piece of paper floats out and lands at my feet, the all too familiar aroma of rose fuming from it. Even before I have time to grab it, Haymitch has taken a hold of it.

"Haymitch," I frown, reaching for it, "that is not your's to read!"

Ignoring me, Haymitch clears his throat, brow furrowed deeply as he begins to speak,

"Dear Ms. Effie Trinket,

I would like to be the first to wish you the happiest of all birthdays. It's not everyday a woman turns the age of thirty eight. I would also at this time, like to extend my fullest apologizes. It was not made known to me until recently that you and the District Twelve victor, Haymitch Abernathy, are expecting a child. When one of my fellow clients told me this wonderful news, I couldn't help but feel the utmost joy towards this. I would like to offer my congratulations to both you and Mr. Abernathy of which, I hope you will share my thrills about your pregnancy with him. A child is a very special gift, after all. I'm sure that you two must be feeling very blessed as do I at the knowledge that such a fine victor of the Second Quarter Quell is expecting his first child. I do believe I will be seeing you at the Games that so quickly approaches. Until we meet again, I bid you a finally congratulations and farewell.

With the highest regards,

President Coriolanus Julius Snow."

**Wow, can't say I've ever written anything that was over 6000 words long. Anywho, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. I gave President Snow the middle name Julius after Julius Caesar because it just seemed fit. And the letter he sent may look innocent at first, but we all know how twisted Snow is and that this letter most likely (definitely) has a darker meaning. After all, he has made it known he knows about the child. Anyway, I'm going on vacation from Monday until Saturday (which isn't long at all) but the first thing I will do upon my return is work on a new chapter. Feedback is greatly appreciated, I'd love to know your thoughts about this chapter.-Jen**


	23. Denting a Heart of Steel

**Sorry for any spelling errors and such that are present in this chapter. My poor laptop has met its demise (or is on its way) so I have to share a computer with my family now and unlike my laptop, for what ever reason, it does not contain any sort of spell check. So once I get something that does, I will go back and correct those errors.**

**On a different note, I have returned! After being on vacation and losing my power (and, in a way, my darling laptop) during a wind storm, it's nice to finally be able to get back to writing this story. So, with as much gratitude as I can muster in words, thank you so much SavySnape7, DistantDreamer07, iwastheexample, effies-scrapbook, HB rules, Minerva-Amantine, XPsychoBabyDollX, XmadlyinloveX, Tattii, HogwartsDreamer113, grumpirah, MetYouByACoin, A Silver Cloud's Lullaby, YvelissaBlossom, Fanfic Allergy, American Fantasy, asha74, Rippl, mage-luna, loveu5missu6, mannersandmahoganyx, Narcissesme, Firing Rockets on Dragons, Lessthanthree13, June Bell, Dani Hartley, Molly, Punzie the Platypus, Hayffie, FleurSuoh, lovingtheboywiththebread, Ember Belli, nekkuu, webkenzie, and all those who alerted, favorited, tweeted, and tumblr'd about this story. The support and wonderful feedback you have given me has truly been inspirational. Now, without further ado, here is chapter twenty two.  
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Chapter twenty two: Denting a Heart of Steel

_"With the highest regards, President Coriolanus Julius Snow."_

A memory. An odd recollection that's brought to my mind as the final statement of the letter replays over and over again in my head. I was thirty two-or perhaps even thirty three-my recalling only goes so far. It was almost Spring, not even a month before the 70th Hunger Games, and though a mere few weeks isn't too long of a time frame, it seemed so distant, so long to me. I remember how anxious I was. How the pads of my fingers, aching from the battering against the mahogany table of my living room, drummed in rhythm with my heart beat as I awaited the certain life changing news. The news of my possibly being chosen to be an escort.

As I waited for the daily deliverance of mail, my heart grew heavy with dread. In my mind, I was almost positive that they had revoked my training, my knowledge of fine public presentation and speaking, and surely had chosen someone who, unlike myself, was not at all qualified for the job. After all, Desmonda had called me not but a week ago with the news that she had received her letter of acceptance. Though I envied her greatly, I congratulated her with much enthusiasm, thinking to myself that I wouldn't be as blessed.

The moment my letter came, safely cocooned in its thick cream colored envelope, had been the happiest moment of my life at the time. And though, once I had opened it and read the obviously typed and not at all personalized message supposedly from President Snow himself, the warm, unmistakable joy and honor still soared through my heart. A letter with such news from such a highly looked upon man was something one did not receive every day. Even if it was made for the intention of sending it to not one, but a few select others as well.

How is it though, that just a mere five years later, on my birthday no less, I am given a letter that surely I should desire more than what I received so long ago? A letter that is written to me, not at all typed, with a message of congratulations, of recognition of who I am. A strange churning in my unsettled stomach brings on the thoughts of much confusion. The twinge of uncertainty twisting in my mind. Surely it's silly of me to feel hesitant about something that is most definitely meant nothing more than a kind gesture of best wishes. And as I take a deep breath, attempting to clear my thoughts, the unmistakable sound of paper crumpling fills my ears.

I don't have to even look to realize what is occurring, but nevertheless, I do so anyway. As I turn my head, my eyes lock on Haymitch, his brow deeply furrowed in a rage that I have never seen present on his face before as he twists the letter in his worn hands almost like he's attempting to strangle the nonexistent life from it. For the first time, I'm actually afraid of him. Terrified of this furious Haymitch that stands before me. And though in a different circumstance, I would step forward and do nothing more than scold him about how horribly rude it is to cause destruction to someone else's property, I feel extremely hesitant to even open my mouth. So I don't. Instead, I watch as he contorts the letter into an unwrinkleable state before letting it fall from his hands.

I don't step forward to catch the letter. No one does. Not a sound can be heard except the soft crackle as the paper finally meets the floor. Like many times as I have experienced here in Twelve, an uncomfortable silence falls over everything. So mysterious, so dread-filling, any previous joy that I may have felt from the knowing that it is my birthday, drains away. Even though I'm confused about this new-found uneasiness that-I have a slight feeling it's strangely because of President Snow's letter-has encased the atmosphere, I do not question. In Twelve, as I've learned, one only receives answers when the beholder of the truth offers, not when the questioner asks.

"You never should have stayed."

The low, void of emotion sound of Haymitch's voice causes me to snap out of my train of thought. My eyes flicker from the floor and up to his as my stomach knots in worry and confusion at his words. He stares back at me, lips pulled into a deep frown as if I'm to blame for his sudden change in mood.

"What?" The word, too soft and meek for my liking, escape from my mouth. Though my mind soars with many questions, for what ever reason, it's the only word I can muster out.

"If your brain wasn't as bubbly as one of those fruity Capitol drinks, then maybe you would've had the slightest lick of sense to have left District Twelve when you had the chance." His tone does not rise nor fall an octative, but the ever persent frown on his face grows, "But no, you had to stay and _twist _yourself around the lives of everyone else here. Stick out like a sore thumb. You were better off in the Capitol with your own kind."

The heat of anger and embarrassment burns in my cheeks as he snarls at me in front of our company. Our company. As if it were my house too-which, by his words, it's obviously far from that. I've taken a lot from Haymitch over the years but now, on my birthday, while I'm mentally unstable, his words hit harder than usual.

"With my own kind?" My voice falters towards the end, "What in Panem is that supposed to mean? Do you not consider me human or something? How dare you refer to the citizens of the Capitol as animals!"

"Never called anyone an animal, Princess," I watch as he inhales deeply, nostrils flaring slightly, "just meant that you don't belong here."

He might as well have just punched me, the way his words sting, the thud against my own heart they cause. A lump in my throat forms at the realization that he didn't want me here, never wanted me here. And perhaps the only reason he allowed me to stay with him is because he considers me helpless. Considered it his responsibility since I carry his child, something now I'm unsure if he even wants. I swallow hard, the nudging I feel from inside my womb not helping any. _Don't you start crying, Effie Trinket, _I tell myself. _Be strong, be brave._

"Well," I breathe in, the air shuttering in my lungs, "I see that I'm not welcome. Forgive me for my interloping. From your actions, it wasn't made clear to me that no on wished for my presence."

"It's a rather warm day out," the sound of Hazelle's voice fills my ears, "and where there is warm weather, there are flies. I think that maybe we should dig into the delicious cake Peeta made before they start landing on it."

I'm not at all hungry but I feel much gratitude towards Hazelle in her attempt to change the matter of conversation. Haymitch though, merely shakes his head, his hands trembling slightly with what I'm sure is a sudden burning desire for alcohol. For all he's out me through these past few minutes, I'm glad he doesn't have any.

"Not hungry," he grumbles quietly. "Need to step out of the room for a minute anyway."

I didn't realize I was gnawing on the inside of my cheek until he walks out of the room. The salty taste of blood lingers on my tongue as I swallow hard, stepping forward to lift the crumpled letter from the floor. Peeta reaches down and scoops it up before I have a chance too. The sympathetic look in his eyes as he holds it out to me makes another lump form in my throat. _Be brave, be strong._

"Thank you," I say softly, taking the letter from him, "There's no need to leave," I pause, wondering what to consider this, what I hold in my hand, "-trash lying about."

There's no singing, no birthday candles present as Peeta slices the cake into generous portions. I take mine to the kitchen table and quietly begin to eat, my stomach seemingly too full of despair to have room for food. After a few moments of eating in silence, I'm in the company of Posy as she places her plate beside mine.

"Ms. Trinket?" She looks at me with her large blue eyes, "are you okay?"

No, I am not okay, Actually, I'm as far from okay as someone could possibly be. But I don't tell her that. Instead, I force a smile onto my lips and resort to giving her hand a gentle pat. She is a child after all, there is no need for me to require her consoling.

"Yes dear," I tell her, "I'm fine."

"Sometimes," she digs into her cake with her fork, "my brother, Gale, gets really grumpy but then he's happy again later. Maybe Mr. Abernathy is just grumpy." She smiles at me as she places a forkful of cake into her mouth, "boys are silly."

I haven't the heart to tell her, that boys are far different from men. Her innocence is sweet, almost comforting to me as we sit alone in the room together. But the time passes by quickly. Soon, most everyone has left the house. The party cut far shorter than I'm sure was previously anticipated. Small offers of staying with me, to keep me company if I need it, mostly from Hazelle and Peeta, are said. I decline them politely though, wishing to do nothing more than crawl underneath the covers of my bed and hide. What a horrible birthday this has been.

As the hours pass, I find myself going no further than the living room couch, still having heard no word from Haymitch since the incident that occurred earlier today. My lap is filled with various birthday cards as I flip through them, my mind and heart in other places than in what the slips of birthday wishes read. Am I anger at Haymitch? Heartbroken? I'm not too sure. The thought of packing up and leaving for the Capitol in the morning sounds rather welcoming at the moment. My eyes fall upon a small package with the curly penmanship of none other than Desmonda. Pushing my thoughts aside for a moment, I take it up, deciding to read the card first and foremost.

_Dearest Effie,_

_Darling, I would like to wish you the happiest of all birthdays. After all the exciting things that have happened to you this year, I'm sure a mere birthday is nothing compared to them. Though, I must say that I'm rather surprised. No party this year? At first, I'll admit, I thought you might of had the indecency not to invite me, but after calling up a few of our shared, fellow friends, I learned that none of them have heard of your birthday banquet either. I do hope everything is well with you. I haven't heard from you in weeks after all. Where in Panem have you disappeared off too? Have you met a man? It wouldn't possibly be that Pewter Elleby we met at the Burgundy Boulevard restaurant those many months back would it? He seemed awfully interested in you and with good reason. Anyway, my dear, do drop me a line sometime soon when you get the chance. I'm beginning to worry. Oh yes, and I do hope you enjoy the perfume. I smelled it in the boutique and I just couldn't resist buying it for you. _

_With much love,_

_Desmonda_

Carefully, I tear back the violet colored wrapping paper to reveal a box of the exact shade. With ease, I undo the tape surrounding the corners and lift the lid to reveal a small, twisted vial of light pink liquid. Around the neck of the bottle is a tiny tag with writing so small, I nearly have to squint to read.

_"Our Fair Gardens: Sweet Lilac and Cinnamon Aroma"_

An interesting scent combination to say the least. Curious, I undo the tiny cap and take a whiff. For such a tiny bottle, the smell is incredibly overpowering and I immediately thrust the cap back on to avoid tearing up. When it came to perfume, Desmonda didn't have the same tastes I did. Exhaling, I gently lay the bottle back in its box when a voice nearly causes me to cry out in surprise.

"And to think I thought that letter of your's reeked."

Snapping my head up, I see Haymitch leaning against the doorway, arms folded and expressionless. How long has he been there? Not bothering to disguise my frown, I inhale deeply, my heart still racing in shock.

"Don't startle me like that! It's incredibly rude!" I hiss, "you don't just go sneaking about. I'd prefer it if you'd make your presence known next time."

"My apologizes," he mumbles, voice dripping with that ungodly sarcasm of his, "I'll make sure to stomp louder when walking."

"What do you want anyway?" I ask, no desire to be polite, "am I not welcome in your living room either? Shall I gather my cards and exit? I was planning on leaving in the morning anyway. Maybe I should get a head start. You'd like that wouldn't you?"

He raises an eyebrow in surprise, "Leaving?" his lips purse slightly, "and how, exactly, would you go about that?"

"By train," I reply matter-of-factly, "tomorrow morning so that I'm hopefully back home by the next day."

"And you've called the train station?" he inquires.

"Yes," I lie, "that I have and they are more than happy to take me back, I assure you."

A slight smirk appears on his face, "Then if you really did call the train station, you'd realize that tomorrow, which is a Wednesday, is the day that only coal trains come to and from District Twelve," his smirk becomes a full out grin, "or did the _station _not inform you of that?"

I feel the blood rush to my cheeks in embarrassment, "Of course I knew that! I'm not stupid!"

He chuckles, "And how, pray tell, did you plan on getting back to the Capitol on a coal train? Somehow manage to climb to the top of the pile and ride your way back? That'd be something I'd pay to see."

"Oh don't mock me!" the words escape in a sort of an unpleasant whine, "you've already made me feel horrid in enough ways today!"

The smirk suddenly fades into a frown as he watches me from where he stands. "I'm sorry," he finally says, "I didn't mean what I said. Or rather, mean how you took it. It wasn't fair of me to lash out at you like that, and I'm sorry."

"You should be," I frown, "Embarrassing me in front of everyone like that! Making me feel awful. It was not at all proper."

"An 'I accept your apology' would suffice just as well," Haymitch mumbles with annoyance, "'Least I apologized. Should get points for that sort of effort shouldn't I?"

I exhale softly, still infuriated with him, "I'll consider it," I say to him, "So, is that why you're here? To apologize?"

He shakes he head and takes a step forward, "No, actually wasn't planning on doing that." Typical. "I wanted to show you something."

"Show me something?" I inquire, now becoming suddenly interested, "and, what exactly would that be? I won't find it utterly disgusting will I?"

"Won't know until you see it now, will you, Princess?"

Hesitant, I slowly push myself off the couch and make my way towards Haymitch. Once I am by his side, he begins to walk, leading me down a dark hallway I soon realize that in my many weeks of being here, I never ventured down once. Slightly nervous of tripping, I find myself taking a hold of Haymitch's forearm as we make our way down, finally stopping in front of a door that looks as if it has been bludgeoned one too many times with a wine bottle. Reaching forward, Haymitch takes a hold of what I assume is the doorknob and pushes it open.

"Watch your step," he says gruffly as first he walks through the entrance, "Hazelle doesn't usually clean in here."

Concerned by this, I take extra precautions when walking in, my arm always extended forward in making sure that I can still feel Haymitch. A few seconds pass, then, with a soft hum, the lights flicker on to reveal what looks like some sort of small sitting room. A very empty sitting room. With the exception of a few scattered papers on the ground, the room has only a small armchair, a worn coffee table, and on the table, what appears to be a picture frame. I find myself taking a step towards it to get a closer look.

There are three people in the picture. A young pretty woman with long brown hair that's tied back into a bun, with arms wrapped around two boys who look no older than there teenage years. The youngest, I assume he is, has messy dark hair much like his mother's, he's smiling-no, beaming with happiness at whoever is holding the camera. It's not until my eyes fall on the eldest boy, his all too familiar dark curls, Seam gray eyes, and rather crooked grin, do I finally realize who I'm looking at.

"It's the only picture I have of them," Haymitch says quietly, "Of my family. Taken right before the Second Quarter Quell. It was sort of a gift from my mother's friend. She was lucky enough to own a camera and took this for my mother as a means of thanks for some housework my mother did for her. My brother, Thatcher," he taps the younger boys face, "was twelve at the time. Always happy about something, he was. Kept my mother's spirits up to say the least."

I find myself staring down at the picture, "I remember reading in the newspaper that there was a terrible fire that killed many in the Seam not but a few weeks after you won the Games."

"A cover up fire," Haymitch says quietly, "they didn't mean for it to spread." And I'm not too sure who he's referring too but I don't bother asking. "The table, armchair, and picture were the only things I managed to save. Everything else was gone." And I could've sworn his voice breaks slightly at the end of his statement.

"Haymitch," I inhale, giving his forearm a squeeze, "why are you showing me this?"

"I had a family once," he says, "and I let them die. And maybe it's a second chance or fate's sick way of pulling one on me, but now I have a new family. Like my family before, it's because of me they are in danger. But this time, I'm changing the rules." My heart begins to pound as his eyes lock onto mine, "this time I don't plan to let them die."

"I...I don't think I quite understand," I whisper. "Do you mean me?"

"And the baby,'' he says quietly, "I don't plan to break the promise I made to you the night at the Mayor's."

_Keep her alive. _The words I suddenly remember so clearly from that night long ago. The words I have wondered about over and over again. And now, unlike earlier, I suddenly realize that Haymitch does want me. Wants both of us. Though I still am wading in the confusion of how I am, in fact, in danger, the swell of joy of knowing that he doesn't despise my presence fills me.

"You have to trust me," I'm snapped from my thoughts as his hands take either side of my face, cradling it gently, "No matter what happens, you must trust me. Do you understand?"

Even more confusion fills me. Trust? Danger? Perhaps he's going insane. Perhaps I am. The events of today disappear as I gaze into his eyes having the strangest urges to fling myself upon him. To kiss him. To do far much more than kiss him. Oh how improper it is to think these thoughts. To desire something more when there is something obviously unsettled here. How strange hormones and mood swings are. _Control yourself, Effie. _

"Yes," I exhale out, "I understand. I trust you."

To what I have trusted him with, I do not know and yet, still, I do not care. His words to me in the sitting room stir up thoughts and feelings that I have never felt or thought before. The knowledge that he considers me family. How he'd go to great lengths to protect me and our child. Somehow, I feel as if, in a way, he's trying to express that he cares about me. Maybe even deeply cares. Maybe even, and dare I say it, loves me? But what ever the case is, I do not leave the next day or the day afterwards. And soon, far too soon for my liking, the Reaping comes.

"Smile," Haymitch tells me in a monotone as we make our way to the District's Square, "this is your favorite day of the year, isn't it?"

"Oh don't be silly," I mumble, the unbearable heat and worry I feel dampening my mood, "I'm not at all looking forward to this."

I stay close to his side as we enter the already overcrowded center of the city. Peacekeepers have been positioned at every corner imaginable and with me, out of everyone, heavily twenty seven weeks pregnant and sporting the dress and wig I received on my birthday, I stand out like a target. Without warning, two Peacekeepers step forward and rudely try to create a wedge between Haymitch and me with the butts of their guns.

"Victors to the holding area," one says gruffly.

"Don't get your batons in a knot," Haymitch frowns, attempting to nudge them away from him, "I was going that way before you two intervened."

And even before I have time to merely glance at Haymitch, I'm pushed forward towards the stage. The words of goodbye still lingering on my lips as I make my way up the concrete stairs and onto the platform that I know so well.

"Welcome, welcome," my voice holds the little excitement I can manage to muster, "to the seventy fifth, annual Hunger Games. The Third Quarter Quell of our century no less. I'm sure everyone here has been waiting with bated breath for this and due to the circumstances, the film usually shown before each Reaping will not air. Instead, we will go straight to drawing our tributes." I take a deep breath, not meaning my next statement, "And may the odds, be ever, in your favor."

My eyes don't leave the sight of Haymitch standing in the small, roped off area with Peeta-Katniss but a few feet away-as make my way to the glass bowl with the the single female name I know so well. Never the less, with a swift movement, I lift the slip of paper up and read it as loud and clear as I can.

"Katniss Everdeen."

No one claps. Not even I have the energy to try to convince them otherwise. Katniss makes her way up the steps and stands silently by my side. She doesn't even acknowledge me as I step over to the glass bowl marked for the males. My heart pounds, my mind racing as I hesitate for a split second to reach in. Why must I do this? How is it fair to give someone the power as to draw if the father of their child is to live or die? Though Haymitch has told me there is no chance he is going in, that Peeta wishes to take his place, I feel no comfort.

Inhaling sharply, I reach in and pull out a name. My eyes fall upon the one I have chosen and my blood runs cold. I blink. I blink again. Hoping that some how I am seeing things, I close my eyes for a few seconds and reopen them. There is no change. No mistake. In the clearest, boldest print they could possibly written it in, is the name I so dreaded on choosing.

Haymitch Abernathy.

**Wouldn't it be evil of me to make a twist where President Snow decides for this Quell there can be no volunteers? Poor Haymitch would be sent in and Effie would be devastated. But no, I follow Catching Fire closely and I'm not that mean...or am I? Haha, I'm just kidding (or am I?)... Decisions, decisions, decisions... Anywho, I'll just stop playing with your minds for a moment to explain a few things.**

**First off, the reason Haymitch gets mad at Effie when there is a possibility of her being hurt and such is because I believe that is how his character would expression that certain type of worry for someone he cares about in that case. And don't worry, I know Effie is still in somewhat of a denial about the Capitol but remember, she's lived there all of her life and has been taught to love it. It'll take something big to break her loyalty and I already have that planned out *insert maniacal laugh here*. **

**Anyway feedback is greatly appreciated and keeps me updating. If anyone has any questions, please, don't be afraid to PM me, I'll get back to you rather quickly. Well, I shall do my best to update soon. I'd like to push myself to update more often so the occasional bugging me to get my butt on the computer and stop chasing lightning bugs outside is greatly appreciated (because I do have a short attention span at times *insert laugh*) Hope you enjoyed the Hayffie fluff!-Jen**


	24. Tearing Down the Wall

**I'm so thrilled! When I came on this morning, to my delight, I saw that this story has reached over 600 reviews and I cannot express my gratitude towards you all enough for that! So, with as much virtual thanks as I can type, thank you ever so much iwastheexample, HogwartsDreamer113, HBR, Guest, XPsychoBabyDollX, A Silver Cloud's Lullaby, Punzie the Platypus, Dernhild, Savysnape7, Guest, revanha, TheGirlWhoWasOnFire21, thatiismahogany, OliviaMellark, gabisamore, Guest, loveu5missu6, emmaknic, Firing Rockets on Dragons, Ember Belli, chiisana-inori, American Fantasy, lovingtheboywiththebread, Rippl, YvelissaBlossom, Welsh Gem, MetYouByACoin, Tattii, Guest, thepotionsmaster7, June Bell, Joshissmexy92, Doc95, Narcissesme, Guest, DrawingAddict, Guest, Aureleis, TheHiddenTruth, Guest, Bubbybee, Guest, LivMellark, CriminalMindsChick6, Guest, and shesetfiretothegames for your kind and ever so inspiring reviews of last chapter (or a previous chapter that you reviewed in the same time frame as the latest update). And, of course, thank you to all of those who alerted, favorited, tumblr'd, and tweeted about this story! **Seriously, all of your support has kept me from putting this story on hiatus.** Now, without further ado, here is the next chapter.  
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Chapter twenty three: Tearing Down the Wall

Seconds, maybe even minutes, tick away as I stand up on that stage, fingers pinching that dreaded slip of paper. A small part of me wonders how this must appear to the audience. An attempt on my part to build up suspense? A case of stage fright? Surely the announcers back at the Capitol have come up with their own story line for my sudden, almost Avox-like, silence. But what ever theories now loom about of my strange loss of speech, none of them, I'm sure, come even remotely close to the true reason of my lack of words.

My eyes flicker back down to the tiny slip. Back to the bold, dark print that makes my stomach contort into knots. Is this how a tribute's family feels the moment they realize that their child is to be placed into the Games? There is no feeling of honor, of dignity, at the thought of Haymitch going in. Only fear, anxiety, and dread fill me as my mind suddenly races with the most absurd thoughts of how to save him from this. From a fate that I, myself, have bestowed upon him by choosing his name.

Could I possibly lie? My eyes flash to the figure of that of Peeta out far in the audience. He sits beside Haymitch in the roped off square, eyes fixed on what I'm sure is Katniss. Would anyone know that I truly didn't pick Peeta even if I called his name at this moment instead of Haymitch's? Not that it would matter to Peeta anyway. No, he had made clear to Haymitch at least, that he was willing to go in, desired it even. Oh how selfish, how disgusting of me to even consider such a thing. To put a friend's life in danger to suit my own happiness? And the consequences that could ensue; that could get me fired or perhaps, even worse, get not just me, but Peeta, Katniss, and Haymitch all in serious trouble. Am I willing to take such risks?

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the disdainful expression of one of the Peacekeepers off to my far right. His eyes, brow furrowing, lock on me for a few split seconds before moving down to the slip of paper in my hands. A gesture or perhaps, even a warning for me to get on with the reaping. I inhale deeply, a lump forming in my throat as I look towards the audience. No time to execute any plans. No time to procrastinate. Only the sensation that even though I am surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands of pairs of eyes, I am all alone.

"Haymitch Abernathy!"

The sound of my voice cuts through the silent air much louder than I had anticipated it to. I watch as a few people flinch, unexpecting such volume after such a period of quiet. But I'm not at all focused on them, but on the man whose face, deeply scowling, begins to rise from his seat just as a new voice, much clearer and bolder than mine, rings out.

"I volunteer!"

A feeling that can, at the lightest, be described as pure, utter relief washes over me as Peeta rises from where he originally had been sitting. Is it wrong that I'm glad about this? Glad about not that a volunteer makes the Games all more exciting but that it means Haymitch is safe? A small smile that I can not mask presses its way onto my lips as Peeta makes his way up to the stage, taking his rightful place beside Katniss.

As I turn to face the crowd, awaiting Mayor Undersee to step forward and read the Treaty of Treason, I feel something brush against my wrist. When I quickly glance over, to my shock, I realize that not one, but two Peacekeepers stand on either side of me, guns resting against their sides in almost a comical threatening manner. Where had they come from? I hadn't heard them walk up.

"May I ask what's going on?" I ask, glancing behind one of the Peacekeepers just in time to catch Peeta and Katniss disappearing behind the heavy set of doors.

"New protocol, ma'am," the taller of the two answers. "From the desk of President Snow himself."

Before I even have a moment to reply, I find myself being edged towards the doors, the Peacekeepers pressing tightly on either side of me as if anticipating that I will try to escape. When I step through the entrance, I can't help but wonder why such a procedure was set in place. No ending speech? No shaking of the hands? As I turn to one of the Peacekeepers, hoping now to gain more knowledge, my eyes fall upon the doors as they reopen and in steps Haymitch with two Peacekeepers on his heels.

A flood of emotions comes over me as our eyes lock onto one another's. Relief. Happiness. Uncertainty. Fear. It takes all of my willpower not to step forward and fling my arms around his neck. To tell him how overjoyed I am that it's Peeta and not him who is being sent in. But I know no good will come if I do that. So I just give a half smile and he, a grimace in return.

"We have taken the liberty of escorting your tributes, Ms. Trinket, to the station."

From behind Haymitch, steps out Head Peacekeeper Thread, his usual white uniform adorned with various metals and ribbons for today's occasion. His eyes appear even darker than normal and as he stares at me through the dim room lights, I cannot help but feel slightly fearful while standing in his presence. As if some odd instinct kicks in, my arms wind themselves around my swollen stomach in almost a silly attempt to conceal it from him.

"Brought to the station?" I look at him with confusion, "without their escort?"

"President Snow believes things would go more smoothly if we, the Peacekeepers, are to accompany the tributes to their various forms of transportation. Not that he holds any doubt towards you." the smirk present on his face causes the corners of my mouth to twitch into a frown, "Of course, once everyone is on the train, the escorting position will be turned over back to you."

"And what of their families?" I say, suddenly remembering that each year, at least an hour was taken to allow the tributes and their families to say their farewells, "has that time been rescheduled?"

"I wouldn't say rescheduled but rather replaced," Thread replies, his hand rubbing the shaved, gray stubble on his chin, "President Snow believes that the time taken to let tributes say goodbye to their families is an hour more valued towards the departure to the Capitol itself. Time management is very important, Ms. Trinket. You of all people should understand that."

His words cause a pang in my heart. Yes, most definitely the management of time is prevalent but to an extent. Never would I deny any of my tributes a chance to bid farewell to their loved ones. The idea that President Snow would allow such a thing as to forbid Katniss and Peeta the possible last chance to see their families is heart wrenching. With a loss for words, I look to Haymitch, hoping to seek some reassurance from his expression. I find none in the frown that he gives me.

"Well, if my watch does not deceive me, I do believe that it's about time you, Ms. Trinket, and Mr. Abernathy here, depart for the station. I'd rather not have to explain to President Snow why District Twelve is late to the Capitol." Thread gives some sort of a snort, "I like my job, Ms. Trinket, as I'm sure you like your's. And much like you, I'd rather not lose mine over something as petty as being late."

There's no point in arguing as the other Peacekeepers press inward, pushing Haymitch and me closer together as we are led towards the dark car out on the street. We climb in, one of us on either side, before the loud rumble of the engine begins and we start down the road. For the first time in hours, Haymitch and I are nearly alone.

"I can't believe President Snow would decree such a thing," I say after a few minutes, the silence not at all to my liking. "To not allow the children a proper farewell? Perhaps there is some mistake. Surely Head Peacekeeper Thread made an error. Tributes are always allowed to bid family and friends a goodbye."

"Doubt it," Haymitch mumbles. "And if this is the worst thing Snow does to them, they should consider themselves grateful. Very grateful."

I don't say anything after that. To argue on the Capitol's part against Haymitch would prove futile. And after all that has happened today, how could I rebut his points? As the time has worn on, much to my dismay, I've started to see truth in his words. The Capitol is my home. It will always be my home. But so, in a way, is District Twelve. The true question is, where, in the end, will my loyalties lie?

As we pull up to the station, I see no crowds, no cameras, only a few figures in white crowded around two people that, as we pull up, I soon realize are Katniss and Peeta. The low rumble of the engine ceases as the car stops and, without a second to collect ourselves, two Peacekeepers-one on either side of the vehical-open the doors and escort us out.

Once again, Haymitch and I are wedged between the Peacekeepers as we are led up to where the children stand. As we stop, I manage to catch Katniss's eye for just a moment. Her face is void of any expression and I can only wonder if it's to mask the pain she surely feels inside. How sorrowful it must be for her not to bid her sister and mother goodbye. A few minutes, that's all that it would take. Just a few moments to get those last words in. And yet, it seems the Capitol believes it's one too many. My heart aches for her. For Mrs. Everdeen. For Prim. I open my mouth about to murmur a word of apology to her, when the clear, booming voice of Head Peacekeeper Thread interrupts.

"On behalf of the citizens of District Twelve and as Head Peacekeeper, I'd like to wish you," his eyes land on Katniss and Peeta, addressing them as if Haymitch and I are invisible, "Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, the best of luck and hopeful glory. Though I have not been in the Head position for your district long," his tone is not at all sincere, almost mocking, "it has been quite the pleasure to know you both."

I watch as Thread begins to walk past the children, past Haymitch and me, up to the door of the train. With the slightest tug on the handle, it slides open to reveal the entrance I recognize without a doubt. At least some things haven't changed. As I glance behind me, I notice that all of the Peacekeepers have gathered around us in almost a semi circle. No words are needed in telling us what they wish us to do. First the children step into the train car, disappearing from view as Haymitch saunters after them. Finally, when it is my turn to board, the sound of Thread clearing their throat causes me to turn around.

"I never truly got to congratulate you," Thread says, "about your and Mr. Abernathy's conceiving of a child together." His black eyes narrow with curiosity, almost menacingly. "Of all of the reports I sent to President Snow, he seemed the most interested in your child rearing news. I'll admit, I was skeptical of sending such a meager report about an escort and her whereabouts to him, at first. But I was pleasantly surprised by is eagerness received due to it." I watch as he reaches out, taking a hold of what I'm sure is the door handle, "My best wishes, Ms. Trinket," and the door slams before I even have time to open my mouth.

I feel the wheels beginning to turn as I make my way down the long stretch of hallway, Threads words floating in my mind. His statement. The way he gazed at me. What had possessed him to inform Preside Snow in the first place? And why did President Snow take so much interest in my affairs? I'm so focused on my thoughts that I don't even notice Peeta standing in front of me until I knock into him.

"Oh my," I can feel the heat rush to my cheeks in embarrassment, "I'm terribly sorry, Peeta. I should be watching where I'm walking. How rude of me."

He gives what appears to be a sad smile, "No, no, you're fine, Effie. It's me who should be the one apologizing. I shouldn't have just stopped in the middle of the walkway like that. I got what I fully deserved." He glances behind himself for a moment as if expecting someone to emerge, "if you're looking for Haymitch, I think he went to his room."

As I listen to Peeta, an overwhelming swell of gratitude towards him fills me. Perhaps he didn't really volunteer for Haymitch's sake-rather, for Katniss's-but never the less, he has spared Haymitch's life. For that, I am forever in his debt. I inhale deeply, looking up at the boy I once considered just a mere tribute a year ago.

"I am your escort, Peeta, and I promise to fulfill my job of that to the fullest once we reach the Capitol," I exhale softly, feeling his eyes watching me with what I know is confusion, "but for now, I'd like to speak to you as a friend. As I do hope you consider me. I'd like to thank you for what you did today. I know it wasn't truly for the purpose of keeping Haymitch out of the Games, but rather going in with Katniss, but despite the purpose, I thank you for volunteering today. For letting Haymitch live another day."

To my surprise, Peeta pulls me in a gentle hug, "I would have done it anyways," he tells me, "even if Katniss hadn't gone in. I know Haymitch would've done the same for me if our roles were reversed."

I smile at his words as we pull apart, "I best be going off to finding Haymitch now before he gets into some trouble. He does have quite the knack when it comes to raiding the liquor cabinets."

Peeta nods, chuckling softly, "You have a point there. I should go check on Katniss anyway. See what she thinks of her room."

He walks off, leaving me with my thoughts once again in the hallway. Peeta truly was a great example of how a true gentleman acted. No wonder Katniss cared for him. Smiling softly to myself, I begin to walk down the corridor, peering at each room with the hopes I'll catch Haymitch in one of them. It's not until I'm about to go past a closed door when I hear someone talking from inside. Has horribly rude as it is, I cannot help by leaning closer and listening.

"Heavensbee? It's Abernathy."

The voice is unmistakable. Haymitch's voice. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as a chill runs through me. Why in Panem was Haymitch calling Plutarch? There is no turning away from the door now. Curiosity has overtaken my proper mind.

"We just left Twelve." A slight pause, Plutarch must be saying something. "Yeah, I know, Snow cut the ceremony short. Didn't even let them say goodbye to their families. Not too sure why though. I can honestly only hope that that's the worst thing he does to those kids, but you and I both know there's probably a deeper purpose to his ways." Haymitch sighs, or, that's what it sounds like as the door muffles it, "I don't feel comfortable discussing details about that out loud at the moment. Never can be too sure whose listening now a days."

If only I could hear Plutarch's end of the conversation. Perhaps everything would make more sense then. Never the less, I continue to listen, trying to absorb every word that comes from Haymitch's mouth in an attempt to piece together the story behind it all.

"Listen, I'd better go. I'm assuming our meeting is still on for tomorrow?" There's another pause. "Good. I look _forward _to it. Watch your back, Plutarch, and I'll be doing the same."

There's the click of a phone being set down and when once there was the sound of Haymitch's voice, now is the thud of his footsteps coming towards the door. I stumble back, trying to compose myself a few feet from his room to make it seem as if I were just walking up. Inhaling deeply, trying my best not to look guilty of eavesdropping, I watch as the door opens.

"Oh, hello there, Haymitch," I force a smile upon my face, "I'm so glad I finally found you. I've been wandering the hall for quite some time now."

"Same room I'm in every year, Princess," he mutters, leaning against the door frame. "Unfortunately not as drunk as I would like to be." He looks at me, lips curved into a frown, "Something you need?"

_Comfort. Reassurance. Answers. __The slightest glimmer of acknowledgement in knowing that you care for me. _I think to myself. But, I don't vocalize any of that. Instead, I adjust my wig and exhale softly, my eyes fixed on his.

"A chair would be nice," I admit. "All of this standing and walking about does quite a number on my back."

He side steps allowing me access into his room. I walk in, taken a back slightly by the lack of liquor bottles present. Shaking the thought of how miserable without it he must be, I take a seat on his bed, the relief I feel from sitting almost instantaneous.

"Peeta and Katniss are in their rooms I believe," I say as he closes the door and makes his way over to where I am, "or in Katniss's room at least. I ran into Peeta in the hallway and he told me he was going off to find her."

"No surprises there," Haymitch mumbles taking a seat beside me.

We're both silent for a minute, neither of us looking at the other. I take advantage of the moment to shift my position, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling as the baby presses against my bladder. Haymitch appears to take notice of my discomfort and moves slightly, I assume attempting to give me more room.

"Thank you," I murmur.

He nods in reply, saying nothing. As the silence drags on, I find myself trying to find ways to preoccupy me. Arms rest around my stomach as I glance out towards the only window in the room. Blurs of green and brown seep into my vision as we speed off past the trees. Passed the outskirts of Twelve where no one ever goes. My heart sinks, a sudden feeling of homesickness towards Twelve filling me.

Why am I feeling all of this? Missing District Twelve. Heart broken that Katniss and Peeta didn't get to see their families. Anger towards the President's decision. An escort is to have no feelings other than excitement and joy when it comes to the Games. But not me. My stomach twists in regret and sorrow for a place I never should have grown attached to. Knots in anguish for those I've become close to.

"You alright?"

Haymitch's unexpected words snap me from my thoughts. I look to him in confusion, not at all understanding the hint of concern in his tone until I feel something wet sliding down my cheek. Reaching up, I brush my finger across it. A tear. I've begun to cry without even realizing it. I open my mouth with the intention of telling him that I'm fine but all that escapes it the horrid, gasping sound of a sob.

All of my pent up emotions. My uncontrollable hormones. My thoughts of all that has happened today and the fears I feel towards the future. Factors that, when put together and contained too long, have an undesirable consequence. Tears spill freely from my eyes as I try to control myself, the long, held in sobs racking my body.

How embarrassing this is. How random when merely seconds before I was virtually fine. I must look horrid. My make up smearing. Noises that surely should be coming from an animal and not from a woman like myself escaping from my lips. So tempted to hurry out of the room, to spare Haymitch from doing so himself, I lean forward about to stand up when I feel two arms wrap around me.

Blinking back tears, I peer up to see Haymitch watching me, his expression mixed between looking uncomfortable and slightly startled. Giving in to his awkward attempt of comfort, I press my face against his chest, the tears falling more rapidly now. There's no hiding it. My distress. My tribulation. I let everything out. Everything that I've held in for months.

Haymitch just holds me, saying nothing as he did before. But I'm glad of this. I don't need him to talk, only to hold me. For right now, being close like this, hugged in his arms, is the only source of comfort that I crave and have been. Just like my need to cry, my need for this means of affection is long overdue. And again, as I have a few times before, I realize how much I truly do need him.

**Not my best chapter, I know, but I've been suffering from writer's block and lack of time to write. Don't worry, I promise next chapter will be better. I have major Hayffie fluff moments planned for the next one. And see? I wasn't mean. I didn't send Haymitch in. I'm saving all of my evilness for later. Anywho, like usual, I'd like to go over a few things and explain them.**

**Alrighty,** **at the beginning, I know Effie felt as if minutes passed before she read Haymitch's name, but like in "Catching Fire" the Reaping was quick. It just felt slow to Effie as time does to us sometimes in certain situations. My goal for this chapter was to sort of begin to get Effie to doubt the Capitol's decisions. Start to get her mind edged closer to being on the rebels side. And, of course, continue on developing Effie and Haymitch's relationship. I felt like a good cry from her was in order since she is emotionally in her current state and experiencing a range of different emotions throughout this chapter. **

**Feedback is very much, greatly appreciated. It kept me writing this chapter through the writer's block and got this update up sooner than I thought I would. Next chapter I plan on consisting of the dinner on the train, watching Haymitch's Game, and the arrival to the Capitol. Along with that, Hayffie fluff (of course, I'm still building up their relationship) and baby talk. And I've gotten this question from several of you about when, I believe, the baby will be born, and my answer to that is very roughly seven to eight chapters. I'm not too sure yet, it's not set in stone, but the due date approaches. I shall correct any spelling errors later on if and when I get the chance. Thank you so much for reading!-Jen**


	25. A Greater Prospective

**First off, let me just say with an explosion of enthusiasm, thank you ever so much XmadlyinloveX, Guest, PhoenixRisingOnTheMoon, earthbound68, Welsh Gem, Minerva-Amantine, A Silver Cloud's Lullaby, LivMellark, effies-scrapbook, webkenzie, Firing Rockets on Dragons, June Bell, Doc95, Guest, sportygirl23, Guest, Guest, CriminalMindsChick6, confusednikki24-7, Punzie the Platypus, Savysnape7, KTstoriesandstuff, Guest, iwastheexample, TShirtBoppin'Strawberry, nekkuu, XPsychoBabyDollX, DrawingAddict, American Fantasy, baahbisaggio, loveu5missu6, HB Rules, candygirl98, JustDoItMarshall, thepotionsmaster7, chilindra, Moonlight Resonance, Joshissmexy92, Guest, HogwartsDreamer113, hayffie feverrrr, Guest, YvelissaBlossom, Guest, and cateyes8588 for your lovely reviews of last chapter (or of previous ones). ****And of course, I could never forget those who favorited, alerted, tumblr'd, and created beautiful art (please check out the links on my profile page to see the truly wondrously amazing pictures done by the fabulous Innocentlilly-her's is now the cover for this story-and SpoiltOrange) about this story. I truly appreciated the feedback. Now, without any further ado, here is the next chapter.**

**Disclaimer- I do not own the Hunger Games series nor the characters who are in it. I wish I did, then Hayffie would be in the book series and take up many chapters.**

Chapter twenty four: A Greater Prospective

The hours of today slip by quickly, almost as if the speed of the train controls them. Though I know there are things I should be preparing for, such as the grand arrival into the Capitol, I find it nearly impossible to tear myself away from Haymitch's embrace. It's not until the hazy orange glow of the sunset illuminates the room that I realize it's prevalent of me, as escort, to pull myself together and go ready the tributes for dinner. Exhausted. Low spirited. Heavy hearted. I break away from Haymitch's arms and saunter over to the mirror in his room, deciding on assessing the damage that my tears have caused in here, in case the results bring more.

I stand in front of the ovular shaped glass, my eyes lingering on the reflection before me. Wispy smudges of metallic gold mascara that loom underneath my lower lids. Lipstick, once the same shade of deep peach, now appears faded in certain spots. In all, I look positively horrendous. How unfortunate it is to see that the makeup I have purchased that claimed previously to be water resistant isn't at all tear-proof. Perhaps if I weren't so tired, I'd be sobbing again by now. Instead, the corners of my lips twitch, threatening to frown.

"Don't know why you even bother looking at yourself if it's just gonna make you upset again," For the first time since I broke down, Haymitch speaks. "Seems kind of pointless, don't it?"

I inhale deeply at his words. My ability to be able to contradict his statement low. "Because," I say wearily, "I can't possibly be seen like this at dinner. Not at all an acceptable appearance while in the presence of company."

Haymitch gives a snort and I know if I were to be looking at him at this moment, he'd be rolling his eyes. "You honestly think anyone on this train is really going to give a damn how you look? Three citizens from one of the poorer districts in Panem and a load of train attendants I'm sure barely step foot off of this contraption. Nobody here wants or has need to be _impressed _by the styles of the Capitol."

"Perhaps that may be," I reply, suddenly regretting coming here in the first place. "But I care about how I look. I may be uncomfortably heavy with child, but I still have my facial looks to uphold. And, after all, I am the escort and it is expected of me that I keep up a good appearance. Whether any of you see it fit or not."

"Suit yourself," Haymitch grumbles. "It's not me who'll be looking ridiculous. Personally, Princess, I find the smeared makeup more attractive than you going around looking like Peeta frosted your face with multi-colored icing."

I suck in a sharp breath. Sometimes Haymitch has a real way of pinching a nerve or two of mine. But what really gets to me is the uncertainty of if he is being rude as usual, or if he, in his own strange way, is trying to compliment me by some means. Did his words to me mean that I looked far more beautiful without my usual cosmetics? Knowing Haymitch, it would be far less surprising if it meant the complete opposite of that. Exhaling, I turn to face him, hoping I can end things before they escalate.

"Well, I guess we are all open to our own opinions," I say stiffly, "but I think I'd prefer to go on mine than your's. And by doing so, I believe I best be going to my own room now. Hopefully, one of the attendants has taken the liberty of bringing my luggage in. It'd be a pity and quite the tragedy not to have my bags containing my makeup."

I make my way to the door in the hopes to get out before he has a moment to put a word in. As I reach for the handle and grasp it, I find myself hesitating for a moment, a thought coming to mind. Haymitch had been unpleasant these past few minutes but previously, he offered me much comfort in my time of need. For that, did I owe him thanks? It is, after all, the proper and least I could do despite how distasteful is choosing to act now.

"About before," I pause, my grip on the knob tightening, "I...appreciate your...patience with me. I realize that it isn't easy to deal with someone who is in hysterics."

He grunts in reply. "When you've been through all that I have, Princess, you learn to deal with things. People have all sorts of ways of letting things out. And if crying is your's, guess I'll have to settle for a few mascara stains on my shirt. Just hope the colors don't contrast _too _much."

Unsure of whether to be offended or flattered, to frown or to smile, I push open the door, secretly wishing that I wasn't as clueless as I feel. Haymitch might as well talk in riddles rather than sarcasm. Perhaps then it might actually be easier to understand him. Grabbing the handle on the opposite side of the door, I inhale deeply once more.

"I'll be seeing you at dinner, I assume? Preferably not late?" I wait for a moment, debating if truly I want to hear his response.

"We'll see," is all he says before I close the door, wishing to have no further argument with him.

The hallway is deserted as I make my way towards my room, my mind focused on the thoughts of Haymitch. How is it possible that one minute we seem to aggravate the very souls of one another and the next we are almost on good terms? One might-and dare I even compare it-say we act as if we're an old married couple. As if we are even close to something of that sort.

Shaking my head, I stop in front of my door, fingers outstretched towards the handle. There is a great need for me to stop hyper focusing on Haymitch. The only good that ever seems to come of it, is that it tends to block out any other thoughts that trouble me. Silently, I turn the knob, the door swings instantly open revealing the same room set up I've grown to know for years now. Unlike everything else, some things never change.

The first thing that my eyes land on are the two large suitcases sitting upon my bed. My bags. Pushing all other thoughts to the side for a moment, I set to work immediately. Retrieving my cosmetics. Scrubbing away the old makeup. Applying the new. It's a routine that I'm quite used to when it comes to often outfit changes, only this time, it's because of crying that I'm doing this.

As I set the bags containing my cosmetics back into their proper placings, I catch my reflection in the mirror out of the corner of my eye. Hesitantly, I shut my suitcase and turn fully to face the speculum. No smears. No fading. My makeup is perfection. I raise a finger to my left cheek, barely touching the creamy white foundation that covers it. But did I look like, as Haymitch put it, one of Peeta's cakes?

Before I have time to contemplate further, there's a knock at the door. Curious, I turn away from the mirror and go to answer it. Expecting it to be Haymitch or, at least, Katniss or Peeta, I snap it open without even questioning whose behind it. Instead of either of the expected three, I'm met by the uniformed figure belonging to that of a train attendant.

"Ms. Trinket," his eyes fall to my stomach for a few seconds before flashing back up to my stare. "I was told to inform you that dinner is ready. We have a malfunction with our intercom at the moment and I was unable to reach you otherwise. I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"No, no," I assure him. "Of course not. There was nothing to interrupt. I appreciate you informing me of this."

He gives a small bow of his head, "Would you like me to inform Mr. Mellark, Mr. Abernathy, and Miss Everdeen?" Once again, his eyes travel down to my stomach.

Feeling rather uncomfortable by the attendant's gaze, I shake my head. "No, I think it best that I do it."

He nods, eyes still fixed on my stomach, "Very well, Ms, Trinket, as you wish. If there's anything else you need-"

"I'll inform you, yes," I interrupt, growing very annoyed with his fascination of my stomach. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that it is uncouth to stare?"

The attendant's face grows red with mortification as he looks to his feet, afraid, I'm sure, to meet my gaze now. Without an apology, or another word for that matter, he turns on his heels and walks away rather quickly, disappearing behind a large set of double doors. Perhaps I was blunt with him, but how I am right now, my tolerance span is short lived. Even more so after all that has happened today.

Regretting nothing, I follow the long corridor down until Peeta's doorway is in sight. As I approach it, I realize there is no need to knock. The door is wide open and without really needing to peek inside, it's clear it's vacant. Assuming Peeta has already ventured down to dinner, I head towards Katniss's room. Seeing once I'm there that, unlike Peeta's, her's is shut.

"Katniss?" I try to sound cheerful as I knock on her door, "Katniss, it's time for dinner."

There's no reply, only the faint sound of someone moving from inside the bedroom. I pause, unsure of if I should knock again. Just as I'm about to raise my fist to the door, it opens. Katniss stands before me, her face void of any expression what so ever. I give her a weak smile, trying to conceal the fact that, like her, I'm not in a joyful mood either.

"I believe Peeta is already in the dining car," I tell her as we head towards supper, "As for Haymitch, I can only hope he has the decency to appear also."

We arrive at the dining car in a matter of a few minutes. Upon entering, we are greeted by what can only be described as a feast. Thick slices of ham laden in dark gravy. Tiny bowls of pale green and orange soups. Tarts filled with the plumpest berries I've ever seen. My stomach growls in response to it all. My hunger that I did not feel at all before, lets itself be known to me full force.

"Breathtaking, am I right?" says a voice.

For the first time, I notice Peeta in the room. His seat stationed square behind what looks like the largest roast turkey I have ever seen. To his right, slightly slouching in his chair, is Haymitch. The scowl of unpleasantness visible on his face. Forcing a smile on my face, I take my seat across from him, Katniss taking her's beside me.

Everyone fills their plate without a word to one another. The meal itself off to an uncomfortably silent start. I can't help but watch Haymitch during this time. The way he picks at his food. His lack of actually consuming any of it. He truly must be miserable right now and I feel as if I have failed since even I cannot conjure up a positive atmosphere at the moment.

"That wig looks nice on you, Effie." Peeta is the first to break the awkward silence the air holds. "The gold really brings out your eyes."

I can't help but smile at this. "Thank you," I say. "Portia has a fine taste in fashion, as I'm sure you know. Very ingenious of her to have Katniss and I match, what with her pin and all." I think for a moment, placing my fork down as an idea comes to mind. "Perhaps, we could get you a golden ankle band, Peeta, and maybe you, Haymitch, a gold bracelet? We'd all look like a true team that way."

"I think that's a great idea," says Peeta, "How about it, Haymitch?"

I look over to see Haymitch slouching even further in his seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His eyes flicker over to Peeta, a glare flashing across his face for a moment. No beverage containing alcohol is around him even if he'd like there to be. And because of this, his tolerance for being in the presence of others is low to none.

"Yeah, whatever," he mumbles dryly.

"Maybe we could get you a wig, too," Katniss finally speaks up.

I find myself biting my lower lip hard after Katniss's statement, the image of Haymitch in my wig at Posy's request in mind. The urge to burst out in laughter is hard to resist, but I manage when I see the look Haymitch throws in Katniss's direction. After that small, light-hearted conversation, we finish the meal in quiet.

The attendants come once all four of us have placed down our utensils for the last time and begin to clear the area. Feeling contently full, I lay my napkin down on my plate and look to the others.

"Shall we watch the recap of the reapings?" I ask, hoping that no one will turn the idea down.

Peeta nods as he rises from his chair. "I'll meet you all in the lounging car in a minute," he says, walking towards the door, "I want to grab my notepad."

I look to Haymitch and Katniss, anticipating what their answers will be. When neither of them put up a complaint, I take it as a sign of agreement, and all three of us, Peeta not included, make our way to the compartment with the television. We all sit down just as the anthem begins to play and the recaps of today's events are shown.

"What a lovely day for the reaping," one of the announcers whom I recognize as Tybalt Silverson booms. "Not a rain cloud in the sky in any of the district, how wonderful was that, Rufilla?"

Rufilla Gladstone, a woman whom I once met when I first began to escort Twelve, beams brightly in response. "Very much so, Tybalt, but might I add what was even more noticeable today than the weather were our fellow tributes!"

The screen changes from the view of the two announcers to District One's Justice Building. I find myself leaning in closer, wanting to catch every syllable of the names Nona Vevette, escort of One, calls out.

"And it appears for One," Tybalt says as the two tributes that are called shake hands. "The siblings, Gloss and Cashmere have been drawn to participate in this years Games. How exciting and yet, tragic, this is."

The rest of the recaps are played in a flurry, seemingly the districts that citizens are more interested in hearing about shown in more depth. From where I sit, the sound of Peeta's pen scribbling away furiously in his notebook is nearly loud enough to mask what the announcers are saying. I about turn to ask him to try to be more quiet when I'm hushed by the next tribute that's called.

"Cecelia Hornsby," Melissa Pixelton, escort of eight, reads clearly.

To my horror, the young woman whom I recognize from a previous game steps forward. As if in sync with her movements, three pairs of small arms shoot out, trying desperately to hold her back. Her children. Her _young_ children. A lump in my throat begins to form as she quickly detaches herself and heads up on stage.

"Oh, not Cecelia," my words sounding hoarse. "Not her."

I sink back into the couch, my stomach suddenly twisting in anguish. Cecelia, a young mother who, as cruel as it is to think, has no chance of winning these Games, and nevertheless is being taken from her small son and daughters. My hand rests on my stomach as I try to block out the cries of despair from the Hornsby children as their mother is taken from their grasps.

Eight finishes. Then Nine. Ten. Eleven with Seeder and Chaff. My eyes flicker over to Haymitch as Chaff in knowing that Chaff is a dear friend of his. And finally, the Justice Building of Twelve appears on the screen. My heart begins to pound, an unknown anxiety filling me as I come up onto the screen.

"And now," Rufilla begins. "The district I'm sure we've all been waiting for, Twelve!"

I watch myself walk over to the females' reaping bowl and retrieve Katniss's slip of paper from inside. The camera turns to Katniss and closes in on her expression as she makes her way to the stage, taking her rightful place on the platform.

"Katniss Everdeen," Tybalt repeats, "Even though we all knew she was going to be chosen, the call of her name still makes the hair on the back of my next stand up."

Again the camera focuses on me as I walk towards the males' reaping bowl, hesitating only for what now seems a mere second before drawing Haymitch's name. Peeta volunteers before Haymitch has time to move, and takes his place on the stage near Katniss. The scene ends and the footage flashes back to the two announcers.

"Oh what a tragic moment," Rufilla says dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "So much it seems, Katniss and Peeta have gone through. Such star-crossed lovers they are."

Tybalt sympathetically pats Rufilla's back, "But that's what makes the Games interesting, isn't it?" He looks to the camera, a wide smile on his face, " Twelve has surprised us greatly these past two years. A volunteer. Two victors in one game. Star crossed-lovers going back into the Games. And correct me if I'm wrong, Rufilla darling, but do my eyes deceive me or is Twelve's escort, Effie Trinket, with child?"

My stomach drops at his words, a wave of dread crashing over me. I whip my head around to face Haymitch. To my surprise, he isn't even looking at the television. Instead, his face rests in the palm of one of his hands as Rufilla's now, suddenly chipper voice fills the entire room.

"Why yes, Tybalt, it would seem so, wouldn't it? But she isn't even married, is she?" she chirps.

"Oh how wonderfully scandalous," Tybalt grins. "And the identity of the father unknown? Only time will tell how this will turn out!"

"These will be the best Games ever!" Rufilla manages to say right before Haymitch turns off the television.

_Scandalous_... My breath hitches in my throat as the word replays in my mind. Scandalous. Me, Effie Trinket, considered scandalous. The idea of it all makes me want to vomit. How dare they make a mockery of me on national television! My fingers dig into my palms as I clench my fists tightly, it taking all of my willpower not to scream.

I turn to face Haymitch, a sudden rush of anger about him filling me. After all, this never would've happened if he hadn't gotten me drunk and impregnated me. But to my surprise, when my eyes land on the spot where he had been sitting, it's empty. In my moment of horror, I hadn't even realized he had gotten up and left.

"I...I have to go," I say shakily to Katniss and Peeta, "I'm sorry but... Please, excuse me..."

I hurriedly leave the room, my mind in a blur. I'm not too sure where I'm heading as I walk down the hall, but I can't possibly go too far. This train, after all, is not that large. And I learn that quickly. After a good ten minutes or so of walking, I come to the end compartment-a dark, windowless car that contains nor is assigned anything. Here, I allow myself to sink to the ground.

In a poor attempt, I try to pull my legs up to my chest but of course, my stomach sees to it that I don't. Enraged. Heartbroken. Exhausted. I can do nothing but sit against the trembling wall of the train car and curse myself for my often stupidity. Would what happened on television today cost me my job? My livelihood? Too tired to even cry, I let my eyes to close, the tendrils of sleep pulling me downward.

* * *

><p>"Not the best hiding place in the world, Princess, but I'll give you an 'A' for effort."<p>

My eyes shoot open. Whether I was fully unconscious or not, the unexpected voice takes me by complete surprise. I snap my head upward, blinking at the figure masked by the darkness in the room. But, there really is no need for a light for me to see who it is. Only one person calls me 'Princess'.

"Why are you here?" I ask weakly, "Come to make a fool of me too? If I'm not the laughing stock of Panem as it is already."

"I find my amusement elsewhere," says Haymitch leaning against the wall. "And if it's any consolation, if anyone is judging you, it's just the Capitol."

"Not helping!" I nearly cry, "Oh, I don't even know why I should even talk to you about this. You wouldn't understand."

"You're right about that," he says, "I don't understand why you let what other's think of you get to you. Not doing yourself any favors in that department, Princess."

"Because my image is all I have!" I moan, "It's what controls my job, my life, and now...now it's gone! You thankfully weren't bashed on national television today! But how long do you really think it'll be until everyone knows who the father of my baby is? For Panem's sake, Haymitch, I'm surprised the President found out before the rest of the media! How do you expect me to face my friends, those cameramen, everyone when we get off of this train tomorrow?"

"Not alone," he says quietly, "I'll be right by your side." His hand suddenly extends out to me and I stare at it vaguely before taking it. "Lets get you to bed before you pass out in the middle of the hallway. Don't need the news thinking an escort died on the train."

We walk down the hallway in silence. As I lean closer to him, fearing that I may fall right back asleep in the middle of a stride, the scent of liquor burns my nostrils. I lift my eyes slightly, looking up at his face through the darkness.

"You were drinking," I mumble.

"Just couldn't help myself," he replies as we stop in front of the door to my room.

He opens the door and we saunter inside. I go over to my bed and sit down, pulling off my wig before tossing it onto the dresser. I'm far too tired to even put it away properly. Haymitch sits beside me, clearly also worn out from today. Rest seems to be something we both are in dire need of right now. As I lay back on my bed, I feel the unsurprising squirms from within me. Though I've prone to falling asleep at any moment now, a new question comes to mind.

"Haymitch?" I murmur.

"Hm?" he grunts.

"I don't know much about little kids," I admit tiredly. "I don't know anything really."

"Well," he mumbles, "it's a good thing your job doesn't involve them then."

"Not what I was getting at," I yawn softly. "I mean, what if I don't know how to be a good mother when the baby comes? I never saw myself as anything more than an escort but now," I inhale deeply. "What if she hates me?"

"You sure switch things to worry about pretty damn quick, Princess," he sighs.

"An image doesn't necessarily mean my escorting job, Haymitch. It means also how I appear to our child." I breath, trying my best to fight of the urge to fall asleep. "What if she doesn't like me? I don't know a thing about parenting."

"Nobody does at first," he replies. "It's a learning experience, Princess. You think I know a lick about kids either? I deal with the same age group every year as you do," he pauses as if collecting his thoughts. "We'll learn together and if all goes well, she'll end up not hating us completely."

"Again, not helping," I mutter.

He lets out what sounds almost like a half-hearted chuckle. "Don't know why you ask for my advice if you don't like it."

I feel him begin to lift himself off of the bed. Suddenly, as if on impulse, I reach forward and grab his arm. Perhaps it's the lack of sleep causing me to not think straight or the fact that I feel as if I've lost so much today as it is, but whatever the case may be, I grip onto his sleeve, not wanting him to leave. I can feel his eyes watching me questionably as I take in a deep breath.

"Stay," I whisper.

"A couple of minutes ago you didn't even want to see me," he says. "And now you want me to stay? You're mind sure has a weird way of processing thoughts. You should think about getting that checked out."

"Please," I murmur, "Don't go."

Slowly, I feel him ease back onto the bed as he mutters to himself that I'll probably make a big deal about this later when I'm in my right mind. Whether I will or not, whether he'll stay or go, for the moment I feel content. I slip away, his voice growing distant, as I'm pulled under into the realm of unconsciousness. The uncertainty of what tomorrow holds a mere few hours away.

**Meh, so hard to keep them in character. Hopefully I didn't butcher them too badly. Anywho, I was going to put Haymitch's game in this chapter but I just didn't feel like I could fit it in right. I preferred having Haymitch find Effie rather than trying to figure out what to do with the Game that'd bring on fluff. **

**This story is slowly approaching it's climax within the next few chapters so get ready for some excitement (and once at the climax, that'll be a good few chapters long of anticipated moments and thrills). As for the next chapter, I plan for some humorous interaction with Effie, Haymitch, and dear Chaff. More bonding between Effie and Haymitch (I have a lot of bonding, I know, it's quite difficult to slowly build up a relationship between the two while keeping them in character). Baby talk. And Effie's slow descend (ascend maybe) into a rebel. **

**Feedback is highly appreciated and keeps me writing. I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors. I'll go to correcting those when I have the chance. Thanks so much for reading! -Jen**


	26. Lingering Between Lines

**First off, I'd like to apologize for the delay in updating. I've had a major case of writer's block which has been a bother to get through.**

**Before I begin this chapter, as always, I'd like to take a moment to thank with much gratitude XmadlyinloveX, TheGirlWhoWasOnFire21, PhoenixRisingOnTheMoon, effies-scrapbook, Doc95, LivMellark, American Fantasy, Alex143, xkuroxshinobix, Firing Rockets on Dragons, gabisamore, lilyafterblue, A Silver Cloud's Lullaby, confusednikki24-7, Joshissmexy92, Guest, Luce hutcherson, Guest, XPsychoBabyDollX, Guest, Narcissesme, CriminalMindsChick6, HogwartsDreamer113, Guest, sportygirl23, TheHiddenTruth, HBR, FunnyPuffins1600, Fanfic Allergy, asha74, loveu5missu6, typicalRAinbow, JocyACullen, TR3Nfan, SassMonster, Josh hutcherson, ashsum, Rye, Webkenzie, June Bell, FleurSuoh, and Rippl for the ever so kind and wonderful feedback you gave for the last chapter. This story has gone over 700 reviews! I'm so honored I don't know what to say! Also, a huge thank you to those who have alerted, favorited, and blogged about this story. Seriously folks, you all are the greatest! Now, without further ado, chapter twenty five.  
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**Disclaimer- I do not own the Hunger Games series nor the characters who are in it. **

Chapter twenty five: Lingering Between Lines

With as much force as a speeding train, my slumber is shoved from my unconscious mind as the unmistakable roar of a crowd rouses me. My eyes are the first to open, my mind still cocooned in the hazy blanket of exhaustion. No light fills my cabin as I glance, heavy-lidded, towards the window. Am I imagining things? Dreaming even? Perhaps this supposed chanting is merely a dreaded machine backfiring. There is no evident sign that the sun has risen yet. And even if there were, surely I would be awake by the time we arrived at the Capitol. A groan from beside me causes my thoughts to go elsewhere.

"You damn Capitolians and your damn sense of time," the groggy voice says irritably. "Does this place ever sleep? I've got a damn hangover and this racket isn't helping it."

For the first time, I notice that I am not alone in my room or even in my bed for that matter. Beside me, hands now massaging slowly at his eyes, lays Haymitch. I watch him silently for a moment unsure if I'm thrilled that he actually did end up staying through the night, or appalled that he had the indecency to sleep in my bed without my permission or acknowledgement.

"You're here," I finally say.

His hands lower from his face and with what looks like much effort, he opens his eyes. "Don't get your panties in a bunch, Princess. Wasn't planning on staying in the first place. Must've fallen asleep without realizing it. Liquor has that affect on me."

I open my mouth in reply when a knock sounds from behind the door. I stiffen at the noise, a sudden wave of dread crashing over me. My eyes dart quickly from Haymitch, who lays unmoved beside me, to the entrance not but a yard or so from my bed. If whoever stood out there were to enter without my permission, the sight of us like this would surely bring up the most unimaginable ideas and questions. My breath hitches, my mind racing as I try to formulate an excuse to Haymitch's being here. One that would ultimately obliterate any idea that we were having relations.

"Ms. Trinket?"

The voice is soft, hesitant, almost as if who ever is speaking is slightly fearful of my response. For whatever reason, the timidness from the speaker brings me relief and my body relaxes, any fear of an interloper barging in disappearing.

"This is she," I call out, hoping Haymitch has the decency to keep his mouth shut.

"I was told to inform you we will be arriving at the station within the next ten minutes. Disembarking will commence once the train has pulled to a stop." says the voice. "All occupants of the train that are participating in, or have any involvement in the Quarter Quell, are to be on the platform five minutes before the hour of six."

It takes me a minute to register the words. Arriving? Disembarking? None of it, at first, makes sense to me. Then, without really meaning to, I find myself tuning back into the cheers that rage on from the outside. Realization strikes hard. No farewell time for the tributes. No stops for fuel. The extra hours have built on themselves to create a sooner deliverance of us all to the Capitol. And by how early we, District Twelve, have arrived, I can only imagine how soon the others must have too.

"No time," I say frantically, pulling myself up off the bed despite my body's desire to stay put. "They have given us no time to prepare, to dress, to ready..."

I hurry over to the large wooden wardrobe that is opposite to my bed. Without a thought of caution, I fling open the doors, my eyes flickering from each outfit selection that has been chosen for me. Dresses, skirts, slacks. All beautiful in color and style. All perfect for someone who is not nearing their seventh month of pregnancy. The moan of despair escapes my lips before I can stop it. Already, my first day back at the Capitol has begun in disaster.

"Clothes not glamorous enough for you, Princess?" Haymitch snorts.

"They cannot expect me to wear these," I whisper yanking a slim, brightly lime colored dress from the rack before shaking it in front of Haymitch's view. "I'll burst it for sure!"

"I'd be more worried about blinding people with that then ripping it," he mutters. "Thing looks like it'd give someone an epileptic episode when you step into the sunlight; what with all those flashy things reflecting light."

"Those flashy things are called sequins, and I'll have you know they are quite a desirable choice in fashion," I reply setting the dress back on its hanger. "Not that fashion is one of your priorities."

"As far as you can get from it," he yawns. "Got more important things to handle."

I frown softly. As if drinking held any rank near to appearance. Doing my best to ignore his ignorance, my eyes scan the clothing options once more in the hopes that perhaps I missed a more suitable outfit for my current condition. I find none. Disheartened, I turn towards the foot of my bed, the two suitcases sitting neatly in front coming to my attention. The clothes I had brought from Twelve-most that had been given slight altercations courtesy of Hazelle-held no exciting nor memorable look to them, but at least they fit me more properly than the rest.

"This is why we should be given a schedule in advance," I breathe, heaving one of the suitcases onto the mattress. "That way we wouldn't be rushing at the last second."

"Shouldn't stress, Princess," says Haymitch. "It ain't gonna get you anywhere any faster."

"Well it isn't going to slow me down either," I mumble, undoing the zip on my luggage. "Stress is a motivator, and if I'm to keep up with this schedule of their's, I'm going to need it."

I don't need to look at him to know he's rolling his eyes. "Whatever curls your wig, Princess," he mumbles.

I'm silent for a moment as I search though the folds of cloth filling my bag. Haymitch truly doesn't understand how anxiety building this all is far me. Changes in the traditional reaping. No schedule before hand. I made out to look like a fool on national television. This matched with my lack of a restful sleep is a recipe for trouble. Trouble still held in place by the few fine strings of sanity I still hold.

Swallowing hard, I finally settle upon the plum dress I wore to the District Six stop on the Victory Tour. It seems to be the only one Hazelle managed to find matching fabric for when she extended the torso room. Laying on the bed carefully, I turn to see Haymitch watching me. My lips switch, threatening a frown. How he can just lay there seemingly without another care is beyond me.

"Aren't you going to go change?" I ask, slightly irritable. "We should be arriving at any moment now."

He merely shrugs, "Don't need too." He says, "I'm wearing what I am now."

I suck in a breath, "You aren't serious are you?" But I know he is. "Haymitch, we are going into public. People will know you wore that yesterday! Everyone saw it during the reaping. Not put on fresh clothes...it's-it's repulsive!"

"I don't give a muttation's ass what people think," he replies, his hands now resting behind his head. "Don't find that their opinions matter."

I can't help but sigh. There is no way that I would be able to convince him otherwise. Whether I like it or not, he was going to keep those filthy articles of clothing on his person. I give into defeat at the knowledge that there are far more important things that require dealing with than Haymitch's hygiene. Pursing my lips, I look to his gaze.

"You get great pleasure in making my life miserable don't you?"

He shrugs again. "Just like mine easier."

I bit my tongue, holding in all the vulgar language I wish to spew. "Well, I'd appreciate it if you'd leave the room now. I'd like to change in privacy, thank you."

He gets up and exits the room without another word or glance at me. I watch the door for a moment, half expecting him to pop back in and make some snide comment. He doesn't. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to relax, I go to changing into my clothes. At least one of us would be presentable for District Twelve's group.

When I'm finally dressed and out of my room, the train is already at a complete stop. To my surprise, I find Peeta, Katniss, and even Haymitch, waiting at the set of double doors in the front. My eyes fall upon the children. Faces pale with exhaustion. Dark circles of sleep underneath their lower lids. It seems that insomnia has taken more than one victim. As the doors open and the four of us step out, I can only hope that their prep teams are able to hide the evident signs of sleep deprivation.

"District Twelve I presume?"

From the far left side of where we stand, a tall woman-her skin dyed such a light shade of yellow, I can't help but be reminded of how Haymitch looks whenever he goes through alcohol withdrawal-makes her way towards us. She stops just inches away from us, her long slender fingers gripping a clipboard tightly as she proceeds to clear her throat.

"New rules have been set in place this year," she says. "No longer will the escort nor the mentor be allowed to accompany their tributes to their assigned prep teams' rooms before the chariot event. Due to the hurried reaping, many details were not distributed to the escorting heads. So, to make up for lost time, mentors and escorts must report to level fourteen for their schedules and a quick briefing on events." Her eyes flicker over to Katniss and Peeta. "As for the tributes, I will be escorting you to your stations. This is only temporary. Once the schedules are released, you will be put back into the hands of your usual escort and mentor."

Katniss and Peeta both throw me a quick glance before stepping forward towards the woman. I cannot even find the words to speak as she turns on her heels and begins to walk away, the tributes, _my _tributes following behind. Once they are out of sight, I turn to Haymitch, a mixture of anger and shock bubbling in me.

"Can they do that?" I say, pointing in the direction she and the children disappeared off into.

He shrugs, "Apparently they can."

We make our way to the elevator in silence. Perhaps it's better that we aren't speaking at the moment. I'm fuming with the anger at the audacity of not being permitted to escort. Even if it is just momentarily. The elevator comes quickly and we are inside and to level fourteen just a few minutes shy of ten past the hour. The doors creak open and I step out onto the marble floor.

My eyes fall upon the setting that has been placed before us. Three thick mahogany tables, two of which contain various fruit juices and small snacks. A small open bar off to the corner-which seems to catch Haymitch's attention immediately for he heads off in that direction almost instantly. A round white table with what looks like twelve thick envelopes-each adorned with a golden number, one through twelve. Before I even realize what I am doing, I'm half way to the table, my arm extended towards the letter marked with twelve. I grasp the edge of it, lifting it towards me when an overenthusiastic gasp causes me to drop it in surprise.

"Effie Trinket!"

I turn around to see a woman rushing towards me. Her hair, dyed a deep green, is teased in such a way it seems as if it, and the huge ruffly collar of her dress, are one in the same. Desmonda. I stiffen, heart beginning to pound once more. There's no where to run. No where to hide. I'm about to take on her surely crazed antics full force. Inhaling deeply, faux smile forming on my lips, I brace myself for impact.

"I saw the on the television!" she gasps, completely void of any breath. "They said you were pregnant! I assumed it was just the camera giving you a few extra pounds-"

She suddenly stops, her mouth slightly ajar as her eyes land on my stomach. As if she were acting for some part in a theater production, she stumbles back, one hand over her mouth and the other over her heart. Wide eyed, she looks from my face to my stomach and then back again as if expecting it to disappear. I bite the inside of my cheek, my stomach twisting violently.

"You...you are!" She breathes, "you really are expecting! Oh Effie..."

I force my lips to stay curled upward. "Yes, I am. Surprising isn't it? I wasn't ever anticipating on-"

"Who is he?" She whispers quickly, "the father? Oh surely you must know! Was it Pewter Elleby? No, no... It couldn't have been him. Cinna? Did you have relations with a stylist?'' Before I can open my mouth, she shakes her head, "No, no, I know you value yourself more than that but who..." Her eyes grow large and she leans in, "Was it Seneca Crane?"

"No!" I splutter out, "Not that it is any of your business anyway but I have never done anything of the sort with Pewter Elleby or Cinna and most definitely not with Seneca Crane, may he rest in peace!"

"Then _who, _Effie!" Desmonda begs, "I am your closest friend. Surely you'd like to tell me yourself before the media does!"

Without meaning to, I look over in the direction where Haymitch is standing. It was only for a second, a split second, and even so Desmonda seems to pick it up quicker than the life of a Capitol fad. She shakes her head violently, eyes squeezed shut so tight it looks dreadfully painful.

"No, Effie, you didn't."

She opens her eyes and looks at me. I feel the blood rise quickly to my cheeks. Like a child, I look down at my feet with embarrassment. There were several things I despised. Poor manners. Disrespect. And being judged. I didn't need to look up to know Desmonda was giving me a look of horror. To be honest, I couldn't say I really blame her either.

"Effie...you're playing a joke on me right? You didn't honestly do it with _him_." I lift my eyes, still too ashamed to look at her. "With Haymitch?" she hisses, "You and that...thing? Oh Effie, I don't even know you anymore!"

"It was an accident, Desmonda!" I interject, "I didn't plan for any of this. It...it just happened!"

"You let it happen!" She exclaims, "the only one in control of your body is you, Effie! I thought you'd be more civilized than that!"

"I am civilized!" I gasp, "it was a mistake!" I shake my head, the threat of tears looming near. "Why are we fighting, Desmonda? We're friends."

"I," she says coldly, "am not _friends _with fallen women."

The words are like a slap in the face. I swallow hard. Very hard. My eyes sting with the beginnings of tears as I try to collect myself. One does not recover quickly from being called a whore. Desmonda shows no sympathy in her expression as she reaches down and takes her envelope off of the table. Without another word, she walks off, leaving me to myself.

"No matter how much of this liquor I drink, it's not gonna be strong enough to get me where I want to be." says a voice from behind.

I turn around slowly only to come face to face with Haymitch. When our eyes meet, I see his narrow. Inhaling deeply, I try to advert my gaze. It was enough that Desmonda, my dearest friend, had heartlessly bashed me, the last thing I needed was Haymitch to do it also.

"You're crying," is all he says.

"That dreadful, dreadful woman." I whisper, my eyes flashing in the direction where Desmonda walked too.

Haymitch also looks in the direction I am, "You let a stalk of broccoli get the best of you? Cause that's what she looks like in that getup."

I wipe gently at my eyes, "Haymitch, be kind." I chide even if secretly, it feels good to hear him say those words.

* * *

><p>Though actually getting the schedules was quick, the debriefing of this year's events takes several hours. Everyone is made to sit at the empty mahogany table according to what district they represent. Fortunately, Haymitch ends up between Desmonda and me so I am not forced to sit through an awkward silence between us. At one point even, Haymitch knocks over his drink, it's contents spilling all over Desmonda's front.<p>

"Sorry," he grunts, "damn hand spasm."

I turn away, biting my cheek hard in an attempt not to smile. Somehow I feel his actions were not a mistake. When the meeting is finally adjourned, it's nearly time for the opening ceremonies to begin. Quickly, and yet still in an orderly fashion, we all manage to leave the room and get to the ground floor of the Remake Center just as the tributes, along with their prep teams enter.

The musk of horse and perfume fills my nostrils as I make my way along Haymitch, through the many chariots in an attempt to find either Peeta or Katniss. But through the many crowds of preps, mentors, and previous victors, it's hard to do such. Eventually Haymitch and I both stop to catch are breath. Perhaps if we wait, maybe we'll be lucky enough for one of them to find us.

I lean against a nearby column, watching as many of the stylists bring their tributes' costumes to life. Many of the outfits, like Cinna and Portia's designs last year, seem to hold either some sort of a resemblance to flame or bright light. My lips twitch into a frown at the unoriginality that these designers seem to hold. Unable to suppress a sigh, I turn to face Haymitch when a loud voice breaks through the air.

"Haymitch!"

I'm snapped from my thoughts as the muscular, one armed victor, Chaff, from District Eleven makes his way over. I look to Haymitch, a slight feeling of annoyance overcoming me when I see him actually grinning at the man who comes towards us. If I were to compare Chaff to anyone, it'd be a more rude, more drunk version of Haymitch.

"Chaff," Haymitch greets him with a nod.

Chaff does not nod back. "My escort over there," he cocks his head behind him, "keeps carrying on about your escort being impregnated by you or something? I don't know, the woman talks so fast I can barely understand her. Anyway, my question is, is she telling the truth?"

Haymitch's face is void of any emotion as he speaks. "Guess it was gonna get at sooner or later."

Chaff says nothing for a moment. Then, without warning, he bursts into a fit of rather frightening laugher. "Haymitch, you old bastard!" he slaps Haymitch so hard on the back, the sound echos. "Didn't think ya had it in you. And you!" he turns to me, "Anyone who upsets my escort is a friend of mine, dollface!" With his one hand, he reaches down and pats my stomach. "Better watch that kid, dollface. If they're anything like their old man, your liquor cabinets are gonna be empty!"

"Effie," I correct, taking a step back from him. "Yes, well, I don't think that'll be necessary."

The music begins to play and Chaff rolls his eyes, muttering angrily under his breath. "I'd better go and get on that damn chariot before Desmonda has another thing to scream about." he says to Haymitch and me. "I'll come and find you afterwards, 'Mitch. Maybe you can introduce me to that Girl on Fire of your's. And it was nice meeting ya, dollface. Keep Haymitch out of trouble for me."

"An interesting friend you have," I say to Haymitch as Chaff disappears.

"And your's aren't?" he smirks.

Deciding not to comment on that, I look towards the direction of the doors. "We should go find our seats now." I say, "they're about to go around the City Circle."

Feeling a little guilty for not wishing Katniss nor Peeta any lucky, we make our way to the stands and find our seats. The voice of Claudius Templesmith booms overhead as the chariots one by one come out. I do my best to concentrate on the tributes and their costumes but I find it most difficult. Even though this is one of the most thrilling parts during the pre-Games, I catch several people looking in my direction rather than at the Circle, whispering words I know, that are not meant as a compliment.

The chariot for District Seven passes, the leaf headdresses blowing in the wind as they speed on. For whatever reason, my heart pounds with the anxiety that this will end soon. I want to get out of here. The dreadful gawking causes my stomach to twist and knot. Quickly, I glance over to Haymitch. At least he seems oblivious to all of the gossip that is around us. I envy him for that.

Finally, Twelve's chariot makes its way onto the track. The images of Peeta and Katniss come into view with their magnificent dark uniforms ablaze with tiny embers. The crowd bursts into a unison of cheers and anyone who was previously watching me, allow me to sink from their thoughts unnoticed. The roars of the crowd are short lived though as President Snow begins to speak, his voice carrying over everything as he welcomes tributes and the audience alike.

The ceremonies finally end with a final lap of all of the chariots. As the sparkling figures on the Twelve chariot disappear, the crowds of people rise from their seats and slowly make their way out from the stands. Haymitch stands before I do and offers his hand. Grateful for this, I accept and he pulls me upright. We push through the crowds until we come to the door at the Training Center's entrance.

"We really should be going up now," I say. "The schedule says dinner is to be ready soon."

"You go on ahead." Haymitch says smirking, "I promised Chaff I'd find him."

"But Haymitch-"

"Hold your horses, Princess. I won't be that long." he grumbles, "just gotta say goodbye to Chaff first...and make fun of his ugly costume."

Before I can interject, he disappears through the door. Exhaling, I decide to just go wait by the elevator. There, if Haymitch didn't show up soon enough, I could easily find him and drag him back without such a long walk. To pass the time, I take to leaning against the wall, my eyes fixing on the clock as the minutes tick away. Finally, after a good ten minutes, he reappears, a slightly worrisome grin on his face.

"What are you so happy about?" I ask as the elevator opens and we enter.

"Not happy," he says leaning against the wall. "Amused, yes."

"I probably don't want to know, do I?"

He nods and I decide not to question any further. As we ride past the third floor, I place my hands on my stomach expecting to feel the baby move. It seems always around dinnertime that they were the most active. Strangely though, I feel nothing. It's at that moment that a realization hits me. I can feel the blood drain from my face as my heart stops.

"Haymitch!"

"What?" he mumbles.

"I haven't felt the baby!" I say frantically.

"What?" he repeats, this time concern filling his usual dull tone.

"I haven't felt kicking or squirming or anything all day!" My breathing grows rapid as my hands tremble against the fabric of my dress. "Why hasn't she moved?"

It's then, for the first time, I see a glimmer of fear in Haymitch's eyes. My world stops. Time itself seems to freeze. And the tiny body within me with it.

**I know, I know. What a horrid cliffhanger. You're all probably wondering is the baby alright? Unfortunately, you'll have to wait until next chapter. But I will stress that NO! THE BABY IS NOT DEAD! NOT DEAD! I'm not that evil.**

**Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated. It helps me fight through the Writer's Block and concentrate on writing which in turn will help you all know if Baby Abernathy is alright or not. Next chapter, MAJOR baby talk, Hayffie fluff (just think of this chapter that I just posted as a gateway to bringing Effie and Haymitch closer), and more build up to the story's chapters-o'-climaxy-fun.**

**Okay, so, I'm about to do some shameless promotion here but the fabulous Grace (a.k.a A Silver Cloud's Lullaby, author of _Fine Line_) and I have begun a Haymitch and Effie story together called_ Forging Iron _(link to story on my profile page). It's a story about if Haymitch had been captured along with Effie and held as prisoner within the Capitol. If you love my writing style, her writing style, and/or both of our styles, we'd love for you to check it out and even drop off some feedback. Our shared account is called Fluttering Lullaby (link on my profile page). Anyway, thanks for reading! Until next time! -Jen**


	27. Two Steps from the Edge

**It's been awhile since I've updated. I apologize, I just have written and rewritten this chapter several times due to writer's block. But anyways... First off, I'd like to give a huge warm thank you to XmadlyinloveX, anchan-apple, SassMonster, PhoenixRisingOnTheMoon, XPsychoBabyDollX, OliviaMellark, HogwartsDreamer113, candygirl98, Doc95, Thalia Mellark, FunnyPuffins1600, iwastheexample, dcrosie28, American Fantasy, Savysnape7, asha74, Punzie the Platypus, loveu5missu6, moonlight goose, sportygirl23, FleurSuoh, Skyler Mist, Trinideanfan, sassymagpie, Alex143, gabisamore, A Silver Cloud's Lullaby, lilyafterblue, confusednikki24-7, Luce hutcherson, Bubbybee, allonsysilvertongue, Rippl, AngelicAbernathy, thepotionsmaster7, HBR, thebakerswifey, Firing Rockets on Dragons, Narcissesme, CriminalMindsChick6, MetYouByACoin, Anonymous, Piper, kelliejo19, Holly, typicalRAinbow, DizzyPotter, Gdreams, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, Guest, Folly Wins Forever, and DrGiggles for your kind and, as always, inspiring feedback. Also, I'd like to give another shoutout of gratification to those who have done pictures, favorited, alerted, and blogged about this story. You all are seriously the greatest! Now, without further ado, chapter twenty six! (And for a quick pronunciation in this chapter, the doctor who will be in it is named Dr. Iucundus which is said as U-CUN-DUS. Just so no one struggles with figuring out how to read his name).  
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**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games series nor the characters who are in it.**

Chapter twenty six: Two Steps from the Edge

The soft ding of the elevator reaching our floor is the cruelest sound in the world. So light. So cheerful. It's as if it's mocking us for our woes. Our worries. Telling the occupants outside that we have arrived but our mental stability is unknown. How twisted the simplest things become. My mind is elsewhere when the two doors peel open. My eyes not at all looking at the breathtaking view of Twelve's room but rather at my perturbing stomach where my real concerns lie. Where they should have always have.

"Oh Panem..." My voice trembles. "She's dead."

"Don't say that." Haymitch's voice breaks through the loud thrumming in my ears. "You don't know that." His tone holds no confidence. Only hesitance.

"Then why isn't she moving?!" My eyes, stinging with tears, flash up to meet his gaze. "Why?"

"I don't know."

I stare into the gray orbs of his eyes which hold an expression that I know all too well. The desire for a drink. But I hold no contempt towards him for this. I know he doesn't wish for one just to gain the pleasure the buzz offers him. No, he needs it for something more than that. He needs it for relief. For the first time in all of my years of knowing him, Haymitch Abernathy shows more than just stubbornness or rudeness or displeasure. He shows fear.

With my anxiety only growing, I take a hold of his hand and place it on the apex of my stomach. It's a silly gesture-one for my benefit more than his. My hoping. _My _praying that maybe he'll feel something that I haven't. That maybe the baby will kick for him when it hadn't for me. But like before, there is no movement. Not the even the slightest flutter. Heartbroken, I let go of his hand, allowing him to let it fall. It doesn't.

"Maybe she's asleep." He says after a long moment of pause. "Or it's just too damn cramped in there for her to move."

"Don't be silly!" I hiss, voice edging towards hysteria. "It's not like her to be asleep for this long if she was! And there is plenty of space! She has another two months to grow! There _is _space!"

The elevator dings twice. This time not for arrival but for telling us to disembark. There must be others waiting to use it. Swallowing hard, my mind hazy with panic and confusion, I take a step toward the doors when Haymitch's hand shoots out and hits the button closing them. I was not at all expecting him to do that. Slightly alarmed by his actions, my eyes flicker to his gaze once more. This time for an explanation.

"There's a health clinic on the fifteenth floor." He says as if already having been anticipating my question. "We'll go there."

"And what makes you think they'll know anything about pregnancy or...or babies or-"

"I don't know." He interrupts, pushing the glowing button that reads _fifteen_. "They may. Or they may not. But they're all that we've got as much as I hate to say it." He frowns softly, his hand scratching at his stubble. "Don't like having to depend on the Capitol for something but guess there's no other choice."

I'm unsure of how to respond to his words. Haymitch has always expressed his hatred-most of the time, much to my dismay-of the Capitol to me. But now he is willing to go to them for help. To help me. To help our child. The idea of asking for aid from those he despises I know is hard for him. And for that, I know he cares. He must care. Or, at least, feel obligated to.

The elevator doors ding softly once more and slide open. A long stretch of navy blue walls and marbled floor comes into view. My hand travels to my stomach absentmindedly as Haymitch, taking a hold on my forearm to steady me, steps out. I follow after, keeping close to his side. We make our way in silence down the corridor neither of us, I'm sure, certain of what to say or what to do to ease the horrible thoughts that plague our minds. It's only when we stop in front of a large, metallic door that Haymitch breaks the silence by knocking on its surface.

"Health Clinic," a gravely voice over says over an intercom. "State your name for clearance."

"Haymitch Abernathy." Haymitch says. "Mentor of District Twelve accompanied by Effie Trinket, escort of Twelve."

There's a click and the door, much like the elevator had, slides open. Behind it I see the one who was speaking to us previously. A man. An older man. Not someone I'd personally chose physical looks wise for such a position as tribute care. Thick, horn-rimmed glasses. Stout build. Unpleasant smile. I feel uneasy as his eyes scan us, the name on his identification tag, _Dr. Casca L. Iucundus_, glistening in the pale room's light. But as much discomfort as this visit brings me, the matter that's at hand is far greater than my preferences.

"Can I help you?" He asks wearily, pushing his glasses up further onto his nose. "Is something wrong with one of your tributes?"

"Not tributes," Haymitch says. "Escort."

I watch as a frown slowly forms on Dr. Iucundus's face as he looks me over. "I don't usually attend to _escorts _or anyone not of the tribute title."

"Please," my voice slips into a tone of desperation. "I would not be here unless it was truly was a dire emergency."

"Emergencies," he scoffs. "I'm a very busy man, Ms. Trinket, I haven't time for things like broken nails or chapped lips. I have injections to prepare for the female tributes to stall any menstruation that may occur in the arena. Hormone treatments for the males. And don't even get me started on fluid preparations for the trackers... The other practitioners they hire for the Games might as well have dropped out of medical school. None of them seem to have a grain of senses when it comes to measuring correct doses and such. Leaves me with all the hard work. So much to do and only two weeks to do it? Ha! Never, not nearly enough time."

"I'm sure whatever the hell it is," Haymitch frowns, "it can wait."

"If it could wait, then I would be relaxing." Dr. Iucundus replies. "Which I'm clearly not since I'm standing here talking to you both when really I should be getting back to my job."

My head is spinning now. Reality seeming to be nothing more than a dream. None of this seems real. None of this should be real. My stomach churns as my heart pounds in response. Perhaps if I weren't so flustered, I would be in the right mind to give this doctor a lecture or two on manners and common human courtesy. But I can't even seem to gather my thoughts enough to speak. My eyes flash to Haymitch, my only hope now for aid. His eyes though, are not fixed on me but on the doctor. His ever present scowl deepening. His brow furrowing with what I'm sure is anger and worry.

"She's pregnant," he says gruffly. "She says she hasn't felt any movement-or whatever the hell the technical term is for that-all day. If that doesn't take precedence over anything else, than this place is more screwed up than I thought."

Dr. Iucundus seems to hesitate for a moment. His eyes flickering from Haymitch to me and then back. Then, to my surprise, he lets out a long, heavy sigh. His hand travels up to his face, fingers pinching the brim of his nose as he closes his eyes for a minute. I feel a small leap of hope for a fleeting second. Perhaps he has reconsidered my examination.

"I really shouldn't be doing this," he mumbles. "If I get far behind on my work, the consequences would not at all be in my favor."

"All we ask is for you to just examine her," Haymitch says quietly. "Then we'll be out of your hair or..." His eyes seem to gaze at the top of the doctor's head. "Whatever's left of it anyways."

Dr. Iucundus frowns deeply, "Though I should turn you away after a comment like that..." He pauses. "Just an examination. Then I must insist you leave me to my job."

Gratitude hits me like a wave. I feel a sudden urge to hug him, the doctor. To shout my thanks aloud. Anything to express my appreciation for doing this for me. But instead of executing any of this desires, I simply nod my head in agreement. It's the simplest thing I can do without perturbing him with a more energetic gratification. After all, the fear that he'll still change his mind looms over my head.

"This way."

Dr. Iucundus's voice breaks my train of thought. Shaking my head, I blink to clear my mind as he motions for us to follow him. I look to Haymitch for a split second, a small part of me, for whatever reason, hesitating to follow the doctor. He doesn't say anything but merely nod his head. At least the ease of having him there with me is there. Inhaling deeply, I begin to walk after Dr. Iucundus, Haymitch at my side.

"Now," Dr. Iucundus begins as we walk into a room on the far side of the clinic. "I don't know too much about prenatal care. It wasn't a field I delved into too deeply while in medical school." He crosses the room over to a small, odd looking machine that sits in the corner. "If you'd lay down on the gurney, Ms. Trinket, I'd be much appreciative."

I do as he asks without a question. I don't even complain about how uncomfortable the mattress I'm laying on is or how cold the metal bars on the sides are as Dr. Iucundus makes his way over with the device from the corner. I watch as he toys with the control panel on the side of it for a moment before turning to me. My eyes fall upon what appears to be four, small silver disks in his hands. How strange that I didn't notice them previously.

"What are those?" Haymitch grunts, nodding towards the disks in question.

"The latest technology in ultrasound equipment." Dr. Iucundus replies in a tone that sounds uninterested. "Makes it easier to just place these on the body part we want to look at rather than search with a bulky monitor. The disks are able to pick up movements or unusual abnormalities in the human body and transfer them onto the screen over there." He points above the bed and for the first time, I note the small television that hangs from the ceiling. "Unfortunately, they don't work through clothes so I'm going to have to ask if I can lift your dress up, Ms. Trinket."

Blood rushes to my cheeks in embarrassment at his words. "Is that really necessary?" But a look from Haymitch causes to me to agree.

Stiffening slightly, I close my eyes as Dr. Iucundus lifts up my dress feeling as if my very privacy is being violated. Though, my eyes don't say closed for long when the disks, cold and sticky with some adhesive, touch my bare skin. My lips twitch, a frown threatening to appear.

"There we are..." Dr. Iucundus mumbles. "Now to focus in on the transmission waves..."

And then there's a sound that I've never heard before. Like whooshing or perhaps even thrumming. Like one of the chariot horses galloping around the City Circle or a train rumbling down the tracks. But it's none of those things. My heart freezes. My breath hitches in my throat. It's a heartbeat. A baby's heartbeat. My baby's.

"Oh..." is all I can manage to say. The feeling of overwhelming joy almost too much to bear. "Oh..."

It's then that I catch a glimpse of the screen that looms over me. My heart stops again but for a new reason. At the tiny arms and fingers that flex slowly. At the small feet that are attached to the legs that curl inward towards the body with each light kick. And the round, precious face of my baby. I find myself eyeing each feature with awe. The small button nose. The full lips that seem to pout. And the eyes closed as if they are sleeping. She's perfect. It's seems almost criminal that I can look at her and yet cannot hold her. Never have I felt so much love for someone I have yet to meet.

When I finally am able to tear my eyes away from the screen for a moment, I see that I'm not the only one dumbstruck. Haymitch sits perfectly still, alert even, eyes glued to the same screen as mine had been. The expression on his face is not one I can even describe. Happy? Concerned? Terrified? It's nothing I have seen before. This is something that neither of us have seen before. And now it's all that I wish to see.

"The fetus's heart rate is low."

The words shatter my cocoon of joy as if it were nothing to begin with. Just seconds ago everything was fine. Everything was perfect. And then the bomb was dropped and its explosion obliterating any happiness in its path. I turn my head quickly to look at Dr. Iucundus, my stomach knotting and twisting at his words.

"What?" I whisper. "But it sounds so loud. It's-"

"Low." Dr. Iucundus repeats. "And if I could guess, so is your blood pressure."

"What's going on?" Haymitch asks, voice sounding almost laced with rage.

"Ms. Trinket, have you been suffering from insomnia and stress?" Dr. Iucundus asks quizzically.

"Yes," I say feeling rather confused. "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"A lot, Ms. Trinket." Dr. Iucundus points at the screen. "While in the womb, a mother and baby share many things. Nutrients. Oxygen. And when a mother is stressed a fetus can become stressed too which can ultimately lead to several complications. In other words, Ms. Trinket, you lack of caring for yourself is also affecting your baby." He exhales. "I'm going to have to recommend you go on mandatory bedrest until your child is born. Luckily this was caught early on. The fetus was just slow in movements because of the drop in heart rate. That's why you didn't feel anything today. It wasn't because the fetus wasn't moving. More of, the fetus's movements were very light."

"Bedrest?!" An unsupressed gasp escapes from my lips. "No, no, no. You don't understand. I can't! I have a job. I am an escort! My tributes..."

"You asked for an examination, I gave you one." Dr. Iucundus says firmly. "And I gave you my advice. You don't have to follow my instructions but if you want to deliver that baby of your's full term and in perfect health, I advice you to listen to me."

"But..."

"You'll do what he says and not be stupid about this." Haymitch interrupts. "For once you need to think about someone other than your damn self."

I feel my cheeks heat up once more with embarrassment. But this time, I'm mortified at myself. Haymitch, though rude, is right. It's not about me or my job at the moment-which I have a feeling I'm soon going to lose anyway. It's about the baby. I frown softly not bothering to look either of them in the eyes. Perhaps this will show my submissiveness into their requests.

"I can give you a little something to help you sleep and relax." Dr. Iucundus says walking over to a cabinet. "It's a mild sedative. It won't harm the baby at all, just make you somewhat loopy." He pulls an orange pill bottle out and from that extracts a white tablet. "You're going to want to keep an eye on her." He tells Haymitch as he fills a small cup with water before walking back over to us. "It kicks in pretty fast and I'm going to recommend you disregard anything she says. I've had patients say some pretty...unusual things to me."

Haymitch gives him a nod. "Dealt with worse."

"I'm sure..." Dr. Iucundus says as he holds the pill out to me along with the cup.

Hesitantly I take the pill along with the cup. Pushing any thoughts and arguments aside, I pop it into my mouth and wash it down with the water. I cannot help but shudder at its bitter aftertaste.

"There." I frown. "I took the pill. Now I will demand that anything I say is never repeated to anyone especially me. I hopefully won't remember any of this."

Dr. Iucundus nods and takes the empty cup. "You probably won't."

My eyes follow him as he tosses the cup away before returning to the machine. There's a pang in my heart as I watch him flip it off without a thought, the image on the screen disappearing instantly. Though, it is little comfort to me when the disks are removed from my person and carefully placed in a nearby tray. They were a bother to have on to begin with.

"Alright," Dr. Iucundus breathes. "You're done."

With Haymitch's help, I slide off of the gurney and go to adjusting my dress. My head already beginning to feel heavy from the medication. Breathing softly, I turn towards the door, leaning on Haymitch slightly for support. Perhaps I should have argued about taking this medication to begin with.

"Thanks for your help." Haymitch says to the doctor. "We appreciate it."

"Just don't go around telling others that I did it." I'm far too tired to look at the doctor but I have a feeling he's frowning. "Don't need others coming in here thinking I'll treat them too."

Neither of us respond nor wish the doctor goodbye as we make our way out of the clinic. Each step I take seems as if I'm floating and though I know it's just the medicine, I cannot help but be amused. Without reason to, I begin to giggle, feeling rather giddy with no apparent cause for it.

"Oh how lovely this is." I breathe. "How lovely indeed."

"He was right about that medicine kicking in fast." I hear Haymitch mutter.

"It's quite horrid." I giggle. "I feel nothing like myself. I feel as if I'm floating. Float with me, Haymitch."

"Sooner we get you back to Twelve's floor, the sooner you can sleep it off." He says. "Maybe I'll lock your door just in case that medicine of your's decides to take you on a joy ride." I giggle at his words.

"I'm much too proper," I'm laughing harder now. "To do such a thing."

"Sure you are, Princess." Haymitch replies.

We walk further until we stop in front of what looks like a strange doorway that seems to ripple like water. How odd this all is. I reach out and try to touch it but it seems to shy away from me as if frightened. How peculiar.

"Where are we?" I ask.

"The elevator." Haymitch replies. "Watch your step. Don't shuffle your feet like that or you'll trip."

"I'm not shuffling. I have no feet to shuffle with." It was true. I could not see anything below the rippling that had spread throughout the elevator.

"Never thought of you as someone who would be really sensitive to medicine." Haymitch mutters. "Then again, never thought that giving you alcohol would result in everything that has happened either."

"And I never thought of you as..." And I giggle, unsure of what to say. "Well...I don't know. But you know what I do want?"

"What would that be, Princess?" Haymitch asks sounding uncurious.

"I want the baby to have your eyes." I say as a loud bong fills my ears. How odd to have changed the elevator's ding. "You have nice eyes."

"Milky and bloodshot." Haymitch says as we step out of the ripples. "Wonderful thing to wish upon the kid, Princess."

"Oh you know what I meant."

I'm not too sure where we're going now. I recognize the room, its walls, its floor, and yet, I cannot put my finger on its location or what in Panem its significance is to me. Nevertheless, I willfully follow Haymitch knowing full well he'd never lead me somewhere awful. Or, I'd like to hope not.

"Peeta and Katniss must have turned in already or something." I hear Haymitch mumble.

"Oh no, we forgot about the children." My words come out slurred. To an untrained eye, I must appear to be drunk. "We should go look for them."

"They're fine, Princess. They can handle themselves, I assure you." Haymitch says pulling me along. "What you need to do is sleep off that medication before you completely lose your mind."

"I have lost nothing." I say rather gleefully. "But I will tell you something. But you must promise not to tell."

"Sure, whatever. I promise, Princess." Haymitch says.

"I never liked Peeta nor Katniss's names." I whisper. "But don't tell them that. They are lovely children but their names... Not at all proper. We must chose a good name for our child, Haymitch. Something prestigious."

"Whatever you like, Princess. You choose the name and I'll go with it." He mumbles.

"Anything I want? You have no say? Really?" I think for a moment. "Well now, what was your mother's name?" I ask.

Haymitch is silent for a moment. "Olive." He finally says, "Her name was Olive."

"Olive..." I ponder this for a moment. "Why yes, I quite like that a lot."

"Olive is not a very prestigious name, Princess." Haymitch replies as we walk into a dark room. "At least, not what someone of _your _class would find it anyways."

"Well we'll make it prestigious then," I say. "If it is in fact a girl, we can call her Olive Trinket Abernathy. But not a hyphenated last name, mind you. I'm not a fan of those. They can be quite a mouthful and then deciding whose name goes first in the hyphenation... No, Trinket will be the middle name. If it is a girl."

Haymitch walks me over to what appears to be a square on the floor that's an even darker shade of what the room is. Suddenly, I feel myself being lowered down, or coaxed anyway, to a seated position on it. Unlike how it appears, it's a lot softer than I would have assumed. Perhaps this is my bed, or something similar to it anyways. I can no longer seem to think clearly at the moment.

"Alright, no hyphenated name." Haymitch replies sounding uninterested. "Now get some sleep."

"But if it's a boy." I continue. "Perhaps we could call him Haymitch or something. After you, of course. Or something better. Maybe Thatcher after your brother. Or Milo after my father. I'm not sure. My mind does not wish to cooperate with me at the moment." An unsupressed yawn escapes from my lips. "Maybe tomorrow we'll discuss it."

"Maybe." Haymitch agrees. "We'll..."

There's a loud knock and a light streams into the room. Squinting, I see a figure standing in what I assume is the doorway. Unsure if this is real or a hallucination from the drugs, I look to Haymitch only to find him walking over to the figure. The figure, who now I believe could be an Avox, extends something towards him in which Haymitch takes.

"Haymitch?" I call out tiredly, suddenly feeling not strange but far too exhausted for my liking. "What's going on? What do you have there?"

"Plutarch." His words sound so distant.

"Plutarch?" I mumble, "What in Panem are you talking about? This isn't your input on a baby name is it?"

"I have to go." He says quietly.

"Go?" I asked, now more confused than ever. "Haymitch, what-"

"I just have a meeting with him," he says. "Nothing important. Just go to sleep and I'll see you in the morning." He turns to the Avox. "Keep an eye on her." And he leaves so quickly, so sudden, I am left with many unanswered questions.

The Avox starts to make their way towards me but I'm far too tired to tell them to leave. Though my mind is heavy with the uncertainty of what has been real or not since my taking of the medication. I do know one thing. Haymitch Abernathy is hiding something big from me. And Plutarch, the Gamemaker, is in on it too. The phone call on the train. The note. There is something occurring but what, I am unsure of.

I feel my body start to lose consciousness as I lay back on the bed. My eyelids to numb to fight the impending sleep. The worst part of this realization is, that I will most likely not remember anything after my taking of the medication. Haymitch's secret will stay his and my curiosity will be left in the dark. I slip away with ease, the tendrils of sleep pulling me under and away from my thoughts and questions. But eventually, even if I do not remember what happened today tomorrow, I will learn what is going on. And perhaps that frightens me even more than not knowing.

**An interesting chapter, no? Lots of baby talk. Some sentimental moments. More questions about the rebellion Effie doesn't really know exists yet but has an idea that something is going on. Anyway, I quite enjoyed writing this chapter. I liked getting to do a loopy Effie segment. That was kind of entertaining to write. Anyway, this chapter took a heck of a lot of research. I wanted to make sure I described how the baby looked in the ultrasound alright. I did some googling about what future ultrasound machines would be like and sort of combined a few ideas to create the one I made for this story. And of course, I wanted to write loopy Effie right without really going overboard.**

**I'd like to consider this chapter "the calm before the storm". By this, I mean, next chapter some *insert colorful word here* is going to go down. Major drama. And this'll lead into a visit from our _lovely _Snow in not such a lovely place (trying not to spoil anything big here *laughs*). And for those who want to know when the baby will be born, I'd say in like four chapters. I know right? So close! **

**And I'm sure a few of you are wondering why the baby's gender was not released during the ultrasound. Well, actually, I talked to not one, but a few people who wanted to wait until the baby was born to learn the gender and I decided to honor their wishes with that. But, if you have an idea of what the baby is, you're probably right. **

**Anyway, I'd love any feedback you have to offer. It seriously keeps me writing this story. I probably would've put it on permanent hiatus by now if not for all of the wonderful support I have received. So I thank you for taking the time to review and such. It really does help me out. Anyway, also for those who read "Forging Iron" (sorry for self-promotion), make sure to keep an eye out for the next chapter coming soon. Thanks so much for reading, I'll begin the next chapter of this story very soon (like I'll start working on it hopefully when I get off from work today). -Jen**


	28. The Plunge (Part One)

**First off, I would like to apologize over and over again. I know it's been forever since I updated. I've been slammed with school work, my dad's in the hospital (he's recovering), and life is just hectic right now. I apologize ahead of time if this chapter (part one of it) isn't the greatest. I promise that I shall improve!**

**Anyway, I'd like to begin as I always do by saying a huge thanks to XmadlyinloveX, LivMellark, lovingtheboywiththebread, A Silver Cloud's Lullaby, MahoganyAbernathy, moonlight goose, Doc95, DizzyPotter, FunnyPuffins1600, SassMonster, everybodylovesmahogany, American Fantasy, ashsum, TheGirlWhoWasOnFire21, Jenny, Savysnape7, KTstoriesandstuff, Aisucold, sportygirl23, Punzie the Platypus, gabisamore, Rippl, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, lilyafterblue, Fanfic Allergy, chilindra, HogwartsDreamer113, Firing Rockets on Dragons, asha74, confusednikki24-7, DrGiggles, Gdreams, MetYouByACoin, XPsychoBabyDollX, Narcissesme, HB Rules, TheHiddenTruth, CriminalMindsChick6, PhoenixRisingOnTheMoon, alyssa345, Rose Abernathy, FoalyWinsForever, BooBerry301, Guest, DrawingAddict, Guest, mydaddoesntsmellofelderberri es, DeadlyRose70, midnight shadow of darkness, RikuMasen, MissNessarose, thepotionsmaster7, The Hunger Games-My Life, smileymileyfan, Thirdquarterquel, Guest, grumpirah, tatizarias, TheHiddenTruth, Guest, luce hutcherson, Jessica Michaels, Willow-Bee The Cat, Jill, sportygirl23, Ianina, Alyssa, Guest, Deadlyrose70, Nerd Beckett, Guest, DaughterofAphrodite101, JustAnotherGirlInTheClouds, and writindownsouth for their incredibly lovely and, as always, all inspiring reviews they left for last chapter (or for a previous chapter). And of course, I could never forget those who alerted, favorited, made art, started a comic series, and blogged about this story (all links to any artwork made are on my profile page. I highly recommend taking a peek at them. They are all utterly amazing and wonderful). Seriously, you guys are really the greatest. And as a thank you, without further ado, here is part one of the next chapter. Oh yes, _this chapter will be broken into two parts_ just so I can get something out to you guys whom all have been so patient with me. **

Chapter twenty seven: The Plunge (Part One)

My eyes fall upon the television that appears to almost be floating rather than hanging against the wall of Twelve's media room. On its screen, the portrait of my very own tribute, Peeta Mellark, sits casually as a bold, black number twelve rotates right underneath his chin. But this twelve is not identifying his district. Nor his age. Or his size. It's his training score.

"A twelve?" Wincing, I try to adjust my seating position on the couch to get a better look at Peeta. My overly swollen stomach makes it harder to do so. "Peeta—"

But I am silenced immediately as a new face, this one belonging to none other than Katniss, materializes onto the screen and replaces Peeta's. Her face is expressionless as yet another twelve begins to circle underneath her.

Two twelves. I'm sure I'm not the only one staring at the screen in awe at this moment. As if I could possibly be seeing things, I blink. And blink again. But the number is not gone. It still rotates, as nonchalantly as it had for Peeta, around Katniss. And this Hunger Games has suddenly become even more historical than I could have ever believed.

"Oh my! Both of you? Twelves?!" I turn my head to face them, strangely unsure if I should be worried or to smile.

I finally notice the expressions on the faces of those who occupy the large television room couch with me. The solemn, slightly furrowed brow of Haymitch. The concern that looms in the stylists' eyes. The unmistakable guilt in the faces of my two tributes. Dread begins to bubble in my chest as a sudden wave of uncertainty hits me.

"You two," Haymitch says gruffly, finger jabbing back and forth from Peeta to Katniss. "I don't even know what to say. Stupid? Idiotic maybe? All of those are far too mild when describing both of your actions."

"Haymitch," I scold, though the tone comes out meekly. "Don't talk to them like—"

"Like what, Princess? Like the fools that they are?" He frowns deeply, finger now directed at the screen. "You know as well as I do that the Capitol does not just _hand out _twelves like that. Or at least I thought you did. Kids have just made themselves targets to the other victors. Or tributes. Whatever the hell you want to call them."

Actions. Targets. Twelves. The words jumble and twist in my mind as I try to comprehend them. Ever since being put on bed rest, the farthest I have traveled has been this television room. No escorting the children to their training. No meetings with potential sponsors. I am forced to rely on the words of Haymitch or the stylists to know how the tributes are doing and if they are behaving themselves. And now it seems that everyone has been keeping something, maybe even several things, from me.

"Actions?" I inquire. "What actions? Is there something of which I'm unaware?"

My eyes lock on Haymitch's. For a split second, there's a glimmer of hesitation in his stare as if he's debating whether to speak or not. Then, seemingly without a second thought, he turns away, attention now back on the children.

"Just go," he mumbles, voice suddenly weary. "I can't stand to look at either of you."

Peeta and Katniss stand, neither of them offering up an argument or even a comment towards Haymitch's unmannerly attitude. With a quiet exchange of goodnights, they depart from the television room leaving me alone with Haymitch, Cinna, and Portia.

For a few minutes there is nothing but silence. As the days have worn on here in the Capitol, a cloud of tension amongst us all has been growing that no one seems to wish to acknowledge aloud.

Portia is the first to disrupt the quiet. "It's getting late. I think we should all be heading off to our quarters now." She pauses for a minute, her eyes flickering over to Cinna. "Tomorrow are the interviews. I'd like to have a few hours of rest before having to get up and put the final touches on the outfits."

Cinna nods in approval, giving a smile that almost seems forced. "I agree with Portia," he says. "Perhaps some sleep will do us all some good."

"For those of us who are able to anyways," Haymitch mutters.

I chew on the inside of my cheek at the truth of his words. At the way his face seems to pale and darken simultaneously at the mention of his own exhaustion. But his reason for lack of sleep, I am unsure. Shadows grow between him and me, much like the darkness I am kept in that clouds my knowledge as to what's going on. Pushing us apart. Making him distant. What he's been up to or what he's been feeling is unclear to me. And the confusion as to be upset or fearful for him is a question that looms in my mind daily.

The stylists say their goodbyes before departing in the same direction the children had. Finally, for what seems like a lifetime, Haymitch and I are left alone in the television room. As I open my mouth to say something, say anything really, he abruptly turns away.

"Haymitch!" His name escapes my lips in an unsuppressed tone of desperation.

He stops in his tracks but does not turn to face me. "What?" he asks, voice dry.

I become tongue-tied, my mind racing as to what to say next. "Would-would you like a sleeping pill of some sort?"

"Even if I wanted to take one, which as sure as hell I don't, your Capitol pills do nothing for me," he says. "Don't have time to sleep anyways. Have things to do. Important things."

"Like what?" I ask. "Haymitch, please, for once, tell me what's going on."

"Can't," he replies tersely. "I've told you that many times but you can't seem to get it through those thick wig curls of yours."

"At least explain me why you won't tell me!" Anger bubbles within me. The urge to cry, to slap him, to release my emotions somehow, builds. "At least give me a logical explanation besides that it's for my safety or because I'm a ditzy escort from the Capitol! I'm not naïve, Haymitch! I can tell something is going on! I…I just don't know what yet."

As if on cue with the end of my speech, the door behind us opens with a click. In sync, Haymitch and I both turn to see the familiar Avox girl, clothed in a red that somehow manages to be only a few shades off from her hair, enter. My eyes fall upon what appears to be a simple white envelope clutched between the thin fingers of her hand. As if not even noticing my gaze, she sweeps effortlessly past me and extends the letter towards Haymitch.

"What is that?"

The words escape in a sharp tone as he takes it seemingly without a second thought. Without replying whatsoever, he pulls up the lip and slips out an even simpler looking piece of paper. His eyes scan the parchment for a moment before slipping it back into its sleeve.

"Plutarch," he mumbles.

"Plutarch?" What in Panem would Plutarch want with Haymitch? And to send a letter as informal as that? "Are you sure that was from him? Perhaps the name is smudge and really reads something else? If you would just allow me a peek—"

"I have to go." He says, shoving the letter deep into his pocket.

"Haymitch, why—"

"Get some rest, Princess." He says, avoiding my words completely. "Last thing I need to deal with is a cranky escort in the morning."

Even before I can utter a single syllable in reply, he walks away, disappearing through the entrance. My teeth find the flesh of my lower lip and I bite down hard. Every attempt. Every effort of trying to break through the walls he has put up. Futile. And this, him, everything, exhausts me. Only the pressure of a foot, or perhaps a hand, pressing against the wall of my womb turns my attention elsewhere.

Hand resting over the apex of my stomach, I sink down against the back of the couch. My body feels heavy as the desire to sleep rolls over me like the ocean waves in District Four. And for just a moment, I give in and let my eyelids fall, unknowingly allowing myself to sink into those waves as they pull me under.

_"Princess…"_

_The voice is gentle, unlike a tone I've heard in a long time. My eyes shoot open half expecting Haymitch, heavily intoxicated, to be standing over me. But instead, I am standing in the parlor of my childhood home. The same plush carpet. The identical furniture I remember distinctly playing on when mother was not around. And this, I know is a dream._

_"Come here, Princess."_

_It's then I see the figure who is speaking. The tall man with the clean cut face, dark brown hair, and blue eyes that seem so familiar and yet, so unrecognizable. Such a plain man, void of any Capitol makeup. Why in Panem is he in my home? Or for that matter, in the Capitol. Who is he?_

_As if not noticing me, he kneels down, arms extended towards something. Someone. A small girl, no older than two, runs straight into his embrace, her blonde curls bobbing up and down as she buries her face into his chest._

_"It's going to be okay." He soothes, scooping her up off of the ground. "Everything is going to be alright."_

_And I realize she's crying, her small frame trembling with each sob as if she is more terrified than words can describe. Strangely, my heart aches for her. For this girl whom I don't know. For this child in my dream. I wish so badly to comfort her, knowing full well I cannot do so._

_"Listen, you have to be strong for your mother for me. You have to be a good girl. Do you understand?" His voice gets firm, but the kindness doesn't fade._

_There's a loud bang. The man turns his head to the door as if expecting someone to burst through. He looks back to the child, who cowers closer into his chest, and hugs her closer._

_"I love you," he whispers, tone suddenly filled with franticness. "I love you so, so much. Never forget that. Never forget—"_

_The door flies open before he can finish. The man is knocked back against the wall as a swarm of Peacekeepers rush in. They surround the men, all speaking so quickly and so unorganized, it's hard to follow. But fear fills my heart as my stomach twists in an unknown sense of dread._

_"Somebody get the child!"_

_One of the Peacekeepers steps forward and pries the small girl from her father's arms. She's shrieking, arms flailing as she tries to reach for him again. But she's pulled away as the group encloses around the man. For the first time, the girl's face turns to me and I finally see her features. Her bright blue eyes, wet from tears. The small shape of her nose and lips. Shock and realization hit me without warning. The small girl. The toddler snatched away from the man. It is me._

_I stare in horror as the small child turns away again, calling out for the man whom I know must be her father. My father. I feel sick. My stomach twists and contorts within me as my mind clouds. This is just a dream. Surely just a nightmare. There is no way I have suppressed a memory such as this. No way I would have forgotten. No way. My eyes squeeze shut as my breathing grows rapid. I need to wake up. I have to wake up now._

"Effie!"

My eyes flash open on command. And unlike how I usually feel, no exhaustion looms over me. Is it possible to have an adrenaline rush from a dream? Trying to regain my breath, I look to see Portia standing over me, her face filled with dread.

"Effie, are you alright?"

She reaches out and I shrink back without meaning to. Her hand retracts, an expression of slight hurt appearing on her face. My chest fills with a mixture of embarrassment and guilt as I collect myself. I will not tell her about my dream. It was a dream. Nothing more.

"I'm fine," I say pushing myself up into a straighter sitting position. "I suppose I must've fallen asleep on the couch. Rather unfortunate. I apologize for that. I haven't delayed anything have I?"

Portia merely shakes her head. "No, it's barely dawn out. Cinna and I woke up early to add the final touches on the outfits." There's a glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes. "I came in here to gather-oh now I can't even remember what-and I saw you looking rather troubled in your sleep." She pauses, eyes fixed on me. "Are you sure you're alright?"

I nod. "Yes, it's not uncommon to have strange dreams during pregnancy. I have experienced them before. Some worse than others. But you learn to get accustomed to them after awhile." I force a smile. "Nothing to be concerned about."

She nods her head slowly as if still uncertain.`"If there is anything that is troubling you, please don't pause to come and talk to me. We are friends after all. It's what I'm here for." A small smile creeps onto her face, "That and clothes designing, but to be quite frank, I prefer the latter of the two myself."

"You are a true friend, Portia." I smile genuinely this time. Throughout all of this that has occurred so far, she had been on my side and by my side-theoretically speaking-through it all. Unlike Desmonda. Unlike the other escorts. And I am thankfully I have at least one person whom I can call a friend.

"As are you, Effie."

There's a loud bong and we both, in unison, look towards the back wall. On it, beside the television, sits a large, silver digital clock, reading the time of six in the morning. Portia strangely seems to pale slightly at this. As if this time is a countdown for something big. My mouth opens, the urge to question what is troubling her fills me, but ultimately I decide against it. Perhaps some things are better left unsaid until the one holding them, mentions it.

"The prep teams should be rousing the children now." Portia says softly, eyes still fixed on the clock. "I think I should be making my way back to Cinna. There are a few tests we still need to run on the outfits."

She sounds distracted but perhaps it's lack of sleep. Something we all have been suffering from. My eyes trail away from the clock and towards the door. Thoughts suddenly on Haymitch. Had he returned from his meeting with Plutarch? What had occurred that he had so rudely decided against sharing? My chest rises as I inhale deeply, the pressure from the baby making it rather uncomfortable.

"I should find Haymitch." I say. "I can only hope he hasn't gotten into any trouble."

"Don't strain yourself, Effie." Portia says extending her hand towards me to allow me some help up. "If you'd like, I could locate-"

"No," I say all too firmly, taking a hold of her hand. "No thank you. I'd like to do it myself. I could use a good light walk. I need the exercise."

But I don't need the exercise nor the walk. I need to clear my mind. The thoughts of the dream, of the nightmare, still loom like storm clouds in the depths of my thoughts, plaguing me with uncertainties and confusion. Perhaps finding Haymitch would do me some good. Even if he is more displeased to see me than I am pleased to see him.

"You'll be watching the children on the television tonight?" Portia asks.

"Of course, I'd be there in person if it weren't for..." My voice trails off, knowing that I really don't need nor want to finish that sentence. "I'll be watching from here with Haymitch if he so ever chooses to accompany me."

Portia nods. "Cinna and I will be anticipating on your thoughts about the outfits. We worked with what we were given but I believe it's going to be a night of many surprises."

I smile brightly, though I don't feel as excited as I should. "I'm sure they will earn us many sponsors. They always do."

"One can hope." Portia smiles softly.

I watch as she turns on her heels and heads for the door. As she opens it and exits, the soft slam that echos soon after fills me with an unknown dread. Even Portia, who usually is the more confident of my coworkers seems to be ill at ease with something. Shaking my head to clear these thoughts, I make my way towards the entrance, trying to focus my mind on things far more important than my worries. Pushing open the door, I enter into the hallway, a rather cooler air hitting me than that what I felt in the media room. As I reach for the doorknob again, considering it best to search for a jacket of sorts in there, a voice stops me in my tracks.

"Ms. Trinket, I was hoping to catch you."

I turn my head in the direction of the words. There, standing not but a few feet away, reeking of a strong fragrance belonging to that of the most popular flower in the Capitol, is the man that I have seen so many other times before but only now do the hairs on the back of my neck stand with a feeling of unidentified anxiety.

President Snow.

**I apologize that this chapter isn't one of my longest. Part two will be much longer, I've just been so busy lately. Anyway, what could President Snow want? Thoughts? And for those who are wondering about the dream, I promise, it will all be explained later. It will play a relatively large roll later on. Anyway, even though my birthday is tomorrow (seventeen years old, woot woot) I thought I may give you all a gift. Hopefully this chapter was somewhat up to your expectations. Anywho, feedback is greatly appreciated and so very much loved. All the feedback I have received so far seriously kept me from not going on hiatus! And never have I ever been so close to a 1000 reviews before. You all are just amazing. And if this story ever does reach a thousand reviews, I'll do something special for you all like the day it does, I'll post two chapters instead of my normal just one. I dunno, I'll think of something grand to do if that day ever arrives. Anyway (I do love that word), I shall be working on the next chapter! I'd like to thank my beta reader, A Silver Cloud's Lullaby, for her awesome betaing skills for this chapter. Thanks so much for reading! -Jen**


	29. The Plunge (Part Two)

**I know, it's been so long since I updated. Life has been hectic but I shan't go into that now. I'll try to make this top author's note short and sweet so a huge thanks to XmadlyinloveX, Erinn, Guest, Mannequin-Prince, tatizarias, Punzie the Platypus, Allyson Kat, Grumpirah, Savysnape7, revanha, SassMonster, lilyafterblue, moonlight goose, The Hunger Games-My Life, Kelliejo19, OliviaMellark, gabisamore, DizzyPotter, Guest, silverunicorn34, Minerva-Amantine, Doc95, Adessa101, Rippl, HogwartsDreamer113, Ianina, asha74, KTstoriesandstuff, American Fantasy, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, AnnieOdesta, Ember Belli, emilia, sportygirl23, writindownsouth, DrGiggles, Neooos, loverofhorses, Deadlyrose70, JulialovesLovato, loveu5missu6, updateeeeeeeeeee, Pixie hallow faerie, AHHHHH, zeldalinkilia, Ameliaxox, anon plz, PirateNinjaCJS, lovingtheboywiththebread, PinkWhalePJs, horse lover, CateyBug, GingerHeit, sophy2431, Kat, AlwaysAPotterjay, Joshissmexy92, kelliejo19, LittleTrinket, Meghan1998, imokit, a user from dA, Professor Squirrel, grumpirah, Hayffie fan, Clara Meliza, Guest, Effie, Guest, Effie, Clover, where r u, sad, guest, Alice Dodgson, and anon for your ever so lovely feedback messages and birthday wishes. And of course, thank you all who read, do art, alert, and favorite this story. You are truly the best readers any author could ask for. Now, without further ado, part two of chapter twenty seven.  
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Chapter twenty seven: The Plunge (Part Two)

It's as if someone is bearing down on my chest, trying to suppress the oxygen from escaping my lungs. Fear begins to fill me, the unquestionable thoughts of trouble muddling and weaving together in my mind as I turn around slowly, arms folded over my stomach to hide the fact that my hands tremble. It's then that I remember Haymitch's anger towards the children's training scores. His refusal to tell me why. Did this unexpected visit have to deal with those unsaid words? My heart begins to pound harder at the thought.

"You look well for someone in your condition."

My thoughts shatter as I fall back into reality. Glancing, I see President Snow's eyes fix on me, his face expressionless. He takes a few leisurely steps forward and pauses only for a moment to adjust the rose on his lapel. Its aroma seems almost to grow stronger at this slight rearranging, as does the nausea in my stomach.

"I have not seen you much since your arrival here," he continues calmly as if this were simply a social meeting. "All is well I hope?"

I nod my head a little to quickly for my liking, my nerves twisting and twirling together like ivy on a fence. "I am doing splendidly," I assure him. "But I very much appreciate your concern over my well being."

"Of course," he says with a nod, a strange sort of expression similar to that of a smile crossing his lips. "I would be quite displeased if one of my escorts were to befall a rather unfortunate fate."His tone is laced with a icy cheerfulness, the sort that beings the thought to mind that he has other interests in mind that he has yet to share. I brace myself for the worse. And it comes. "But I did not come here for a mere chitchat, Ms. Trinket. Though, I would much rather speak to you on a more happier sort of terms."

He straightens where he stands, the few crinkles on his suit disappearing as he does so. I can feel my heart beginning to hammer quickly, my palms perspiring like that of a sickly person. How horrid the feeling is. How unpleasant my body reacts to it. I take in a breath through my nose doing what I can to collect myself from a sure breaking point. If I show him my fear, it only brings guilt. A guilt I have for a reason unknown.

"I am sure you are already fully aware of the incident that occurred during the training exercise?" His words catch my attention. They are but news to me. "Of your tributes' rather...questionable behavior in the presence of the judges?"

"Pardon?" The word escapes before I can catch myself. A mixture of both shock and horror etch on my face, as bold and colorful as the graffiti outside the Capitol train station.

"You are unaware?" His tone is strange, undefinable, as if he is both pleased and displeased. As if he is unsure of the truth in my statement. "Your tributes, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, both displayed the deaths of Seneca Crane and Rue of District Eleven in a way that can only be described as crudely artistic."

Haymitch's words, his anger towards the children...Had this been the source of it? I give my head a small shake, blinking a few times as I try to compose myself. "I apologize immensely for their actions. I had...they did not share their training strategies with me." My lips press into a thin line, the pressure nearly painful. "It will not happen again, I assure you."

"I expect it not to." The president says with a nod, lips curled in a strange smile. "I trust your authority, Ms. Trinket. Do not disappoint me. I am rather fond of you. I would hate to feel let down due to your tactics."

On that eerie note, I watch as he turns, walking away nearly as quickly as he had appeared. Without realizing I had been holding my breath, I exhale slowly, feeling coming back to my petrified limbs. Rage. Fear. Confusion. Emotion washes over me as my mind grows hazy as to what to do next. Do I find Haymitch? Has he the answers I so desperately look for? If not, at least my fury will be properly released on the one whom deserves it most. For a moment, I close my eyes, air filling my lungs as I inhale deeply. I had been patient, I had let questions go unanswered, but now...now Haymitch had gone too far. For that, I demanded far more than being simply brushed off. _  
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"Haymitch!" The name escapes my tongue in a sharp tone. Heels clicking, I make my way down the corridor, My disproportional body making each step awkward, highly uneasy, but displeasure masks any feeling of embarrassment or fear of judgment.

The hallway seems longer than I remember-or perhaps it's just due to my current state-as I pass from door to door, not seeing, or rather now smelling, the signature stench of the man I hunt. I can feel the baby pressing against my bladder, the discomfort only lowering my mood far more than it previously was. It's then that I catch sight of a figure sitting slumped over a table within the only room that decided to have the decency-or lack there of-to leave the door so widely open that they may as well have removed the hinges from the frame. I suck a sharp breath in through my nose, the odor of alcohol burning my nasal passageways as I take a step inside.

"Haymitch."

No response.

"Haymitch." My lips press firmly together as I make my way over to him. "Haymitch, I demand you get up this instant." I reach forward, my hand clasping around his shoulder as I give him a squeeze. He groans in response, his eyebrows furrow in displeasure but his lids do not lift. "Haymitch!"

"Go away." He mutters, his hand extending outwards as if it is a poor attempt to block me. "Tryin' to sleep. Your damn perfume is drying my throat out."

He's drunk, or hungover, that much is obvious. "You've been drinking." I say, my lips twitching into a frown as my gaze lands on several empty bottles of spirits that laden the table. It's hard to mask the disappointment in my tone. "Nevertheless, this is far past any decent hour of slumber. I need you to get up now. We need to talk. Now."

"Bout what?" He drones, his breathing begins to slow as if he is nearing unconsciousness once more. "What's so damn important?" Yawning, he waves the hand that he is holding outward. "Can't anything wait with you, Princess?"

"Oh, I believe this has waited long enough." The words escape from my lips cold, angry. A tone that is slowly becoming more difficult, like many, to blanket with false joyousness. "I'll have you know, Haymitch Abernathy, that I have had it with all of your secrets. Why, just this morning, I got a very surprising visit from President Snow-"

And as if someone has flipped on a switch to start him up, Haymitch lurches upright. Before I even have a moment to react, he is grasping my forearms, a look in his eyes that I have never seen before. Fear quickly replaces the anger I previously felt as he shakes me, his fingers digging into my skin.

"What did he say?!" Haymitch growls, his voice raised far more than I had heard it do in awhile. "What did he say, Princess?!"

"Haymitch, let go!" I say frantically, disliking his reaction greatly. "You're hurting me!"

"What did he tell you?!" He sounds almost in panic. "How long ago did you speak to him? Minutes? Hours?! Dammit, Princess, use your tongue and tell me!"

"He just told me of what Katniss and Peeta did during their training exercise!" Finally I manage to break away, stumbling backwards from the sudden movement. He reaches forward as if to catch me but I dodge his grasp, regaining my own foothold without his aid. "He merely asked me to keep an eye on my tributes' actions because their mentor sure isn't seeming to do such a job!" Tears sting my eyes, for my reason of crying, I am unsure. "That is what he spoke to me of!"

Haymitch seems to relax, his eyes focusing on the ground as his chest rises and falls from his overexertion. "I'm sorry." His voice is quiet and it's unclear if he's apologizing for grabbing me so or for the knowledge of the children. "Was that all he said?"

"Were you expecting something else?" I ask bitterly. "I have enough stress as it is without having to worry about what the tributes do when I am not around to supervise. Haymitch, I trusted you to watch them! I believed that you would tell me of what they did and didn't do while I was away. I thought that was the agreement we had! You told me I could trust you!"

"Sometimes trust is broken for a reason, Princess." He replies coldly, slumping once again in his seat. "Best let go of your innocence and realize that." Haymitch turns away from me, his shoulders hunched forward as he looks across the room. "Now if that's all you came to scold me about then get out of my sight." He pauses for a moment. "You shouldn't be out here anyway. The doctor said you needed to rest."

Rest. As if I have the time for that now. My teeth grind unpleasantly together as I inhale deeply through my nose. "I cannot believe you." The words escape sharp, edgy. "I just cannot." Shaking my head, I take a step back, my lips pressed so firmly together that it hurts. "I expect you to be showered, dressed, and outside in an hour. The interviews are today and I will not have you mess this up once again."

"We'll see." The words are muffled by his sleeve as he presses his face to his arm. Before I even have another moment to reply, he is snoring loudly, lost once again to the world of reality.

And that is the last time I see Haymitch during the day. In the few hours I have to prepare for the interviews, I'm far too concerned with other matters. Speaking with the stylists, conversing with the tributes, perhaps this is all against what I should be doing but relaxation does not come to those who are proactive by nature. Finally, when night falls, all seems to be in place. Or, at least, I can try to believe it to be so.

"Perhaps you should consider staying behind." Portia says; her words followed by the sound of a zipper traveling upwards as she fixes the back of my dress. "You know how crowded it can become in the stadium." I hear her heels click as she takes a step back. "Perfect."

I turn to face her, my eyes falling over the turquoise material that now covers my skin. My gaze lifts to meet that of Portia's. "How do I look?"

"Elegant," she replies with a soft smile.

My head nods, my hands reaching up to one again adjust my wig. "It's merely an interview, neither a celebration nor party in the slightest. There are seats, mind you. I will fair just fine."

"I know," and her smile turns to one of sympathy. "I just worry. You know what the doctor said. He believes that rest is in yours and the child's best interest." And at her words, I cannot help but frown.

"You sound like Haymitch." I mumble, peering over at her from the corner of my eye as I look to face a mirror. "He said something similar to your words earlier today."

"He worries about you, you know." Portia steps forward and adjusts the straps of my dress. "Very much so."

Rudely, I chuckle coldly at this. "He has an odd way of showing it." The corners of my lips twitch into a deeper from as a lock of my hair falls from underneath my wig. Carefully, I take a hold of it and slip it back under. "Sometimes it seems he could careless at all."

"Haymitch is a different sort of man." Portia hesitates as she speaks. "He has a strange way of showing his emotions, his feelings…He is from District Twelve, their way of life is far more diverse than ours." She pauses. "But I do believe that he loves you."

The heat rushes to my cheeks at her words. Love? Haymitch? I turn to face her, my chest rising as I inhale far too deeply. "Love?" I shake my head, a small smile of disbelieve forming on my lips. "No, Haymitch does not love anyone, especially me." I turn away again, adjusting my wig more vigorously this time. "It's not his nature."

"But it is," and I feel Portia's hands resting on my shoulders. "He is only human, Effie. We all are. It's nearly impossible never to experience love even in the slightest. Haymitch loves, he must, and it is you." She chuckles softly. "Have you seen the way he looks at you?"

In disgust? In hatred? In annoyance? I turn my head slightly, eyeing Portia with a slight frown. If anyone is concerned of anybody's wellbeing, it should be me for Portia's. "Why are we talking about this?" I mumble, moving away from her. "I don't desire to speak of Haymitch right now."

Portia smiles softly but her eyes seem to hold much sadness. "I say this to you because I fear of when we will get to speak again." Her hand reaches forward, resting on my shoulder. I glance down at her hand before back at her. What was she talking about? Did she worry that I would not have time to talk to her once the Games began? Was there something she was not telling me?

She merely shakes her head, turning her hand slightly so that she now grasps my own. "Nothing." Her smile turns kind, the sort that is meant for reassurance. As I open my mouth to reply, the loud roar of an audience sounds. The interviews are about to begin. "Come," she releases my hand. "You don't want to miss Katniss and Peeta."

Halfway through our walk to the stands, Portia leaves my side and goes to join Cinna and the other stylists. Not much further however, my eyes fall onto a surprisingly well groomed, obviously displeased Haymitch, who stands awkwardly at the entrance as if waiting for me. As he did on a few rare occasions on the Victory Tour, he is appealing to look upon. I walk up to him, still not fully over our previous encounter today.

"You look quite dashing." I say with a forced smile.

"You look," his eyes fall to my enlarged stomach before meeting my gaze. "Bigger." And I frown.

We walk in silence into the rowdy stadium, taking our seats with the other mentors and escorts. A few seats down, I catch a glimpse of Desmonda. She seems to have seen me as well for her once pleasant expression turns to a frown as she looks away immediately. I advert my eyes, a feeling of sorrow overcoming me for a moment.

"Don't look at her, you might turn to stone." Haymitch mumbles over the roar of the crowd as we take our seats.

"Pardon?" I ask, wondering if I had heard him correctly.

"Nothing." And the brief conversation ends.

All of the tributes seem to have different approaches when it comes to their interviews as one by one walk onto the stage. However, unlike it has been for most years, these speeches are far more heart wrenching then the others. Unfortunately, try as I may, I cannot seem to keep my attention on one speaker for very long. Haymitch seems to be suffering a similar fate for every so often, when I happen to glance over at him, he is pulling at another part of his attire.

"Stop that," I slap at his hand lightly as if he were a child when I see him tugging at his sleeve's cuff. "That's silk, you'll ruin it."

"I don't give damn what it is, I don't like how it feels on my skin." He grumbles, resorting to tugging it even harder.

In a last effort to save Cinna and Portia's hard work on the jacket, I grab his hand and pull it into my lap. Just as I do so, I happen to look over at Desmonda who, with just my sort of luck, is looking over back at me. Her eyes flashed down to our hands and then back to my face. Whether it's the lighting or I am truly seeing what I am, I swear she rolls her eyes before turning away once again. I drop his hand after that.

The interviews continue to drag on as the time ticks away. Finally, however, District Twelve's moment rolls around. I lean forward slightly in my seat, my neck craning as I attempt to catch a better glimpse of Katniss on the stage. My eyes fall upon the white, flowing bridal dress I saw her try on so many months ago. How peculiar that Cinna had chosen this for her to wear.

As she begins to speak, the crowd falls silent. From the corner of my eye, I can see Haymitch's expression; stern, unamused, displeased. I cannot help but wonder what could possibly be going through his mind right now. Surely he must be thinking of how it could have been him that was next to speak instead of Peeta. As I consider this, my thoughts are disrupted by the roar of the crowd. To my alarm, everyone is standing up, seemingly trying to stare at something on the stage.

"What's going on?" I say aloud, trying to see past the wall of people. I look over at Haymitch and he exhales, his shoulders shrugging as he slumps down deeper in his chair. Finally, after many attempts on Ceasar's part, the crowd settles and everyone takes their seats. That's when I see what the audience was gazing at. There, standing no longer in a dress of white but one of ebony feathers, is Katniss. And without meaning to, my jaw drops. "Oh my..."

Elegance would be a harsh word to use to describe its beauty. Vibrant long feathers cling to her sleeves as if she has wings, the detail so grand that even those in the far back of the room can see it perfectly. Cinna had outdone himself. Had really outdone himself. And yet, for some strange reason, though I find its perfection memorizing, a chill creeps over me. Why had Cinna created such a dress when Katniss's wedding one was already far more suitable than any other attire for the event? Inhaling deeply, I lean back in my seat, my eyes focused on Caesar and Katniss's seemingly friendly conversation. When the timer finally buzzes, and her place is taken by Peeta, I cannot help but grow worried.

"So, Peeta," Caesar begins, his smile growing. "What was it like when, after all you've been through, you found out about the Quell?"

Peeta begins to speak and the two, like old friends, converse about the wedding. All seems well. No acts of stupidity, no mumbling nor pauses in embarrassment, perhaps I have overreact after all. Though, when I look over to Haymitch, he seems to have stiffen, become more alert even. His eyes are focused on the stage, so concentrated that it's as if he is trying to communicate with Peeta via mind. I watch him curiously, both concerned and confused by this strange gesture of his. However, my train of thought is broken moments later when Peeta says something that I never anticipated on hearing.

"...if it weren't for the baby."

Silence falls over the crowd for a split second. Even my own heart feels as if it has stopped. Then, as if on cue directed by some conductor, cries of protest and shock overrun the entire stadium. I too find my lungs filling with a breath of horror. Katniss pregnant? No, they wouldn't possibly still send her into the arena would they? She is with child! I look to Haymitch, my expression is of one of utter surprise and fright I'm sure. As an expecting mother myself, I cannot even fathom the idea of being sent to a place where I must kill to survive. Where my death is both wanted and hated. It is barbaric! It is sickening! And suddenly, the excitement and thrill of the Hunger Games slips from me.

"Haymitch, they wouldn't...You don't think they..." I struggle to formulate a complete sentence. My mind is hazy, my thoughts muddled. I begin to stand as if my voice will be some sort of assistance in the sounds of protest. But before I am fully upright, I feel pressure on my knee. Looking down, I see Haymitch's hand resting on my leg, my eyes lifting to meet his and I watch as he shakes his head.

"Don't even try," he says quietly. "You think your words mean anything to them?"

I have not even a minute to argue when the buzzer goes off and Peeta his hustled off the stage far quicker than any of the other tributes. Caesar offers a few words of farewell but no one seems very interested. When the crowd begins to disperse, I feel Haymitch grasp my hand as he tugs me through and away from the stadium, trying as he may to avoid the rush. Finally, we manage to make it back to District Twelve's designated floor without a scrap of clothing torn or a scratch upon our figures. However, the mental pain I am experiencing now is far more agonizing than any sort of physical hurt. I feel ill, my hands tremble in both rage and shock for what fate has been placed on the children I have grown to know and care deeply about.

"Haymitch-" But he stops me before I can continue.

"There is nothing we can do." He says quietly traveling over to the couch before I can stop him. "Best to accept what is."

My hand travels to my stomach, the mere thought of Katniss's pregnancy bring my own to mind. "I cannot believe you are saying that." I whisper. "What if that had been me?"

"It isn't." He says bluntly, sitting down on the cushions.

"But what if it were?"

"It isn't." He inhales, sinking into the couch. "So it doesn't matter."

"It's Katniss and Peeta," I nearly cry out. "It does matter!"

"It wouldn't have mattered a year ago when they were just tributes to you then." And his words hit me far harder than I anticipated them to. "Just pieces in a game. But now that you've known them a year, you feel you have the right to have emotions towards them? What a change of pace, Princess. It's what you always say, _may the odds be ever in your favor_."

"There are no odds!" Tears sting my eyes, my hands shaking at my sides. "This isn't fair!"

"Is it ever?" Haymitch turns his head and looks at me, his gray eyes emotionless. "Has it ever been fair?"

I do not speak for a moment. I do not even look at him. I cannot. For the first time, perhaps he speaks the truth of the Games. How is it fair to send children, innocent, young children into an arena to fight? How is it right to force a pregnant woman into the Games to face a death she does not deserve? No child who is sent now to battle in the arena was alive during the Dark Ages. How can blame be given to those who did not earn it? No. No... I cannot think this way. I cannot think against my Capitol. My beloved home. The place that I love that loves me...The place that has judged me. The place that desires to kill the two children who have made such an impact in my life. I take a step back, my heart pounding in my chest.

"I want to go home." My tone is meek and my statement sounds so childish but it is true. I do not want to be in this building anymore. I do not want to face what I know I must. I don't want to believe what I am beginning to know is fact. I am a coward. Nothing more than a coward. And finally, the walls I have built around myself as an escort come crashing down.

I turn and begin to hurry away. Where I am going I am unsure. I just need to breathe, just need to think. From behind, I can hear the sound of the couch groaning as if Haymitch is standing up. I do not wait to see if he is following me, I just continue walking. Out of the door, through the hallway, I walk briskly, my head low, my breathing rapid. Calm. Cool. Collected. Manners. Ecstatic Effie Trinket the Escort. I am to remember who I am. What I worked for. I must compose myself and remember me.

"Ms. Trinket."

The cold, yet calm voice stops me in my tracks. My eyes shoot up, my breath hitching in my throat. There, standing before me, is President Snow once again. An unsurpassed gasp escaped my throat. Had he been there the whole time? What business had he with visiting this floor again? Was it about Katniss? Peeta? Their child? Had he reconsidered allowing her to forfeit from the Games? Perhaps I have given up hope for the Capitol far too soon.

"President Snow," I greet, my breathing still erratic as I try to relax myself. "Forgive me, I did not see you there."

"Might I inquire where you are going, Ms. Trinket?" His tone is ominous, questioning and yet not. It is enough to send shivers down my spine.

"Just for a walk, sir." I say with a small smile. "I just need some fresh air to clear my mind. It's been rather hectic today. I thought that perhaps now would be a good time than ever to recollect myself."

"Perhaps," he says coolly. "But I'm afraid I cannot allow you to do that." He takes a step closer and for the first time from behind him, I see two figures step from the shadows. Peacekeepers. In full uniform and in a stance I know that is not to be taken with much friendliness. "You see, Ms. Trinket, you had made me a promise today that I really was hoping you wouldn't break. Something that I never dreamed of thinking you would be a part of."

"I'm...I'm terribly sorry." The words escaped from my lips in a jumble, fear and confusion filling me. A part of something? A promise broken? What in Panem was he speaking of? "Pardon me, Mr. President, but I'm afraid I do not understand. What are you speaking of?" I take a step back suddenly wishing Haymitch had followed me out here. "Perhaps there has been some error, sir. I...I really must be going. The children are expecting me I'm sure."

Footsteps sound from behind and I do not need to turn to know that more Peacekeepers have stepped forward. What was going on? Had I been framed for something? Surely Desmonda's detestment towards me had not been that great? My stomach churns, my arms wrapping around it as I look on either side of me as if I had a possible escape. But running made one look guilty. A guilty that could not possibly belong to me.

"Oh, I think you are fully aware of what I speak of, Ms. Trinket. And you should know that not all stunts are to be found as amusing." My heart pounds heavily against my chest, my heavy breathing returning. Stunt? What was he referring to? "It's quite a shame really, Ms. Trinket. I did really like you despite what others thought. But unfortunately, what is done is done and cannot be overlooked. You understand rules and their consequences, am I correct, Ms. Trinket? Then you'll understand why I must do what I am doing."

Hands grasp either of my arms and without even truly meaning to, I begin to struggle. They have the wrong person! Surely they do not really believe it to have been me? This is a grave mistake. They must know that! They must know I have not done whatever they have believed me to have committed. My eyes fall upon President Snow, a look of horror etched upon my face I'm sure. However, no emotion crosses his features as he looks to those who hold me and gives a single nod.

"A real, true shame, Ms. Trinket. You were really a wonderful escort." He turns on his heels and begins to walk away. "I guess it is true what they say; when one hangs around the wrong crowd, they too pick up their habits." He stops for a moment, turning to look at me for a final time. "I see that now."

Gloved hands hold onto me so tightly that it is impossible to break free. Before I even have the energy to try to prove my innocence, I feel the unmistakable pinch of a needle entering my neck. Darkness falls over me before reaction does. Reality slips away as I fall from the world. A true nightmare I know will not cease upon my awakening. I greet unconsciousness with crossed arms as it swallows me whole, I as empty and as alone as I once came into this world. Forgive me, Haymitch.

**Dundundundun, President Snow has "arrested" (or perhaps the term kidnapping would prove more correct) Effie. So, many of you probably have questions like, 'When will Haymitch know?' 'Won't he come looking for her?'. For those, I sadly must say will be answered later on in the story. However, fear not, it won't be too long I promise! So, I thought that now would be a good point in time to arrest Effie since Cinna was taken the next day by the Peacekeepers for the stunt he pulled on the stage. I feel like Effie too would have been taken for Snow believing she had involvement with it. After all, Peeta and Katniss do not see her again after the interview so for all we know, maybe she was taken then or maybe she was taken upon the arena's explosion. Anyway, as I had promised before, if this story reaches 1000 reviews, I shall post a new chapter. I don't mean that I'm going to wait until it reaches that number of reviews before posting, merely that as a thank you, I will work my darnedest to give you a chapter when the story does. **

**Feedback is greatly appreciated and loved and seriously keeps me writing (see folks, I didn't give up on this story!) I would love to know your thoughts on what occurred in this newest installment! Anyway, hope you enjoyed! The baby will be coming in a few chapters! Hooray! Thanks so much for reading! And a huge thank you to my lovely beta reader, A Silver Cloud's Lullaby, who was kind enough to read a section of this chapter for me. So if there are any errors, it's my fault because I forgot to correct them, but I shall go back and do it later! -Jen**


	30. Shattering a Heart of Glass

**First off, a huge thank you to those who reviewed the previous chapter (or one within the same time period); Guest, XmadlyinloveX,** **Minerva Amantine, katieee, SassMonster, The One Who Got Sherlocked, Clara Meliza, grumpirah, Anne, peetafile7, Mercede216, All For Jesus, lovingtheboywiththebread, Rippl, Bubbybee, moonlight goose, Gabisamore, Gdreams, American Fantasy, Guest, Deadlyrose70, Erica Abernathy, kelliejo19, PinkAngel23, sportygirl23, Guest, LadyLily06, BfHGsiriusluver, DrGiggles, Anononononon, JulialovesLovato, ritergurl12, the daily whatever, CloveLudwig99, Anonymous, ElizabethTaylorJames, and Abby and Liv Snigglebottom. I greatly appreciate the lovely feedback you left and the great motivation it gave me. And a warm wave of gratitude to those who alerted and favorited this story as well. It means so much to know I have support from you folks in writing this story. Now, without further ado, allow me to give you the next installment of this story-chapter twenty eight.**

**Disclaimer: All rights go to Suzanne Collins. I do not own the Hunger Games nor its characters (even if sometimes I have dreams that I do).**

Chapter Twenty eight: Shattering a Heart of Glass

At first I lie to myself that what happened was nothing more than a dream. That it was, in fact, a mere nightmare. That when I open my eyes and the darkness ascends, I will be back within my room on the designated floor for District Twelve in the Capitol. But as consciousness envelopes me and the familiar ache one receives after getting a shot begins in my neck, I know that it is not the case. And almost immediately, I find myself wishing to fall back into a comatose state because I know for whatever awaits me, I fear, will not be pleasant.

"Sir, I believe she is coming to." The voice is distant, and yet, seems to come closer with each spoken word.

"Are you positive?" Another voice answers the first, this far deeper than the previous one.

"Yes."

"Have someone alert the president. He wished to be here when Ms. Trinket awoke."

"Yes, sir."

Footsteps grow loud before fading off as the sound of a door clicking shut can be heard. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. Each muscle in my body rigid and tense with anticipation of an event I am not aware of yet. The child too moves within me, the movements sluggish and so light that fear for her plagues me immediately. Had the drug they had given me affected her as well? Had harm come to my baby?

The sound of the door opening once again halts my train of thought. However this time, unlike the last, instead of the sound of a single pair of feet walking, there is two. Without resistance, my breathing quickens, a given sign to my alertness. Unfortunately, this does not go unnoticed and I can smell him without even having to open my eyes to know he's there.

"I was beginning to grow concerned that you would not wake, Ms. Trinket." President Snow's tone is cool, far too calm for comfort.

Suddenly, as if the sun itself has been brought into wherever it is that I am, a luminance so bright burns past my eyelids that am forced to blink. Through the glare of some horrid light, I see the outline of figures standing before me. Then slowly, the spotlight is dimmed, but only so much so that my eyes do not water in agony but squint in discomfort. Finally, I can see the president clearly. He stands closer to me than the other figures do, his face expressionless, his lips pressed firmly together. From his expression, I can gather nothing. Not of what he is thinking. Not of what he feels. And perhaps that is what makes it that much more terrifying, knowing absolutely, positively nothing.

"How are you feeling, Ms. Trinket?" The voice of President Snow breaks my train of thought as our eyes meet. The corners of his lips curve upward slightly, but it's far from a smile. "I apologize if these accommodations do not meet your standards." He nods down towards my hands and for the first time I note the metallic chains that that bind my wrists to the arms of a chair. "It's a precautionary, not that I believe you are a danger. Just standard policy if you will."

"My baby?" Of all the questions I could have possibly asked in that moment; of all the things that I might have said, concern for the child escaped from my lips faster than any other thought.

"Fear not," his eyes fall to my swollen stomach as if he knew what I was asking from what little I gave. "The medication you received previously was not in the least bit harmful to your child." Without warning, he reaches forward and pats my stomach lightly. The gesture sends shivers up my spine. "Just perhaps caused some lethargy that should wear off shortly. Nothing to be concerned about."

He inhales deeply, his chest rising significantly as he does so. Then, pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket, he proceeds to cough violently as if the mere breath itself has caused him great pain. Soon however, it subsides and he waves away the figures whom, I can only believe, stepped forward to aid him. He clears his throat, eyes once focused again on my person, as a weary sigh escapes from his puffy lips.

"I'd like to think we are friends, Ms. Trinket." I watch as his arms slip behind his back, folding together in an almost interrogational way. "And friends help each other, correct?" He begins to pace slowly, almost as if trying to cause the anxiety within my chest to build further. "How far along are you again, Ms. Trinket? Just at or shy of thirty weeks if I recall correctly? A good foothold within the third trimester."

A lump forms in my throat and I swallow hard to force it down. Why in Panem does he speak of my pregnancy so? Had this been the reason, or part of it, for my incarceration? My eyes flash down to my stomach and back at his gaze, unsure, even now unable to know how to properly answer such a question. My grace is gone. My ethics. My manners. I might as well be sitting here naked for no longer do I have, nor am even offered in any sort or any means protection.

"Now, Ms. Trinket, do not be frightened to speak up. It pains me to have you here like this. I want nothing more than to have you delivered back home safely where you, your child, and even Mr. Abernathy can live in peace. But to do so, I need your help. Can you help me, Ms. Trinket?"

"I…I do not know," the words are meek sounding, pitiful even. "I can try."

It was the best I could offer but it seems to please him nevertheless. President Snow smiles, his hand now resting on my shoulder instead of where it previously sat behind his back. "Good girl."

From behind him, I watch as he extracts a chair, pulling it forward to only take a seat upon it. His hands fold calmly on his lap, his stature relaxed as if we are merely having a cup of tea rather than sitting in a room where my crime is unknown and its reasons unspoken.

"Do you love the Capitol, Ms. Trinket?"

It was a strange question, one that I had not expected him to begin with. "Yes." The word comes out in a whisper. "Of course I do."

"Would you ever want to harm it?" He inhales, leaning forward in his chair. "I know the recent Quell has hit home hard for you to say the least. I cannot say that I would blame you in the slightest if this spurred any thoughts of revenge. You have, after all, grown particularly close to some of this year's participants, yes?"

"No!" My response is loud, far too loud than I had desired it to be. "No," my voice lowers. "Of course not. I would never dream of hurting the Capitol. I love the Capitol. It is my home, my job, my life..."

For the first time, President Snow's lips twitch into a full frown. His eyes narrow, his brow furrows as if he is studying my own features with great curiosity. "I do not like liars, Ms. Trinket." He says softly, his tone cold. "Do not think of me as naïve. I know very well what the mockingjay stands for. The avian no longer is just a symbol of fashion, Effie Trinket, and the stunt your district pulled on the stage during the interview only proved my theories further."

Confused. Terrified. Unsure. I look into the President's eyes, hoping, praying that he sees within my expression that I have absolutely no idea of what he speaks of. Of my assured innocence in this situation...whatever situation this was. "What?" I breathe. "The mockingjay? Sir, believe me, I do not understand at all of what you speak of!"

"Katniss's dress, Ms. Trinket," and his eyes close for a moment, a look of pure exhaustion etched upon his face. "The transformation of your tribute's wedding gown into some forest fowl. You and your stylists, I know of what such a symbol means. I have been in office long enough to recognize such signs." His eyes open his previous look of weariness is replaced by one of seemingly pure hatred. "Rebellion."

The secrets. The unsaid words and actions. Suddenly everything begins to fit perfectly together in my mind like a puzzle. A light illuminating the once dark portion of my reason. Now it all makes sense. Haymitch, the children, even Portia and Cinna, all who must have known of what was happening. All who knew and did so behind my back. I want to be mistaken. I do not wish for this to be the truth. But, and go against all that I may, I will not and cannot put it past them. I have been betrayed by those whom I've grown to trust. Formed a bond with. And now it is I who must pay for their ways.

"What do the rebels have planned next, Ms. Trinket?" President Snow's voice breaks me from my thoughts. Defeat fills me, disbelief in what I have just learned. "You do not look well, Ms. Trinket." He adds softly. "Is it because you have realized your grave error?"

I say nothing at first, just merely shake my head. I am at a lose for words. At a lose for reason. "No," I finally manage to say. "No, forgive me, but you yourself are mistaken. I would never betray that Capitol. Never join a rebellion. And the children and Haymitch wouldn't dare commit such a capital offense. Haymitch-"

"Haymitch Abernathy left you for dead." He cuts me off. "He left you alone here. Look around you, Ms. Trinket. No one else from your district is present from this room. If Mr. Abernathy so cared for you, do you not think he would have come up to me already and begged to take your place?" He leans in close, his aroma nearly enough to make my stomach up heave its contents. "You are nothing to him, Ms. Trinket. You are but a peg in his game. A burden on his back. All he has ever cared about is liquor and only your presence makes his desire for it burn more."

"No," my head shakes. I refuse to believe these words. I will not. "Haymitch does care. He is stubborn but some part of him, some small piece holds compassion. I have seen it. He would not simply abandon me so. I know him. I have for years!"

"Do you, Ms. Trinket?" President Snow's voice is barely as whisper now. "Do you know Mr. Abernathy as you so claim to? Why, you seemed rather surprised when I informed you of what your tributes had been up to during the training exercises. Have you not the slightest curiosity of what else he might possibly be hiding from you?"

The tears stream down my cheeks before I can suppress them. He speaks lies. Falsity. This is just a mere attempt to retrieve answers that are nonexistent. Yet, why had Haymitch not come searching for me? Had my disappearance been a joy rather than a concern? No, no...I must not allow myself to break. I must stay strong. I must not shatter. Another lump forms in my throat, only this time I do not bother swallowing it down.

"If you do not wish to speak anymore, Ms. Trinket, then I'm afraid I have no choice but to hold you here in prison." I do not look to meet his gaze as the sound of his chair scooting back as he stands fills my ears. "You are quite stubborn with your information giving. But I have no fear that I will eventually retrieve what I must. I always do." Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the two guards advancing forward. My heart pounds; uncertainty of what is to come next begins to fill me. "You are, in many ways, your father's daughter."

Before the statement of my late father and curiosity of President Snow's mentioning him can come into full realization in my mind, the chains that bind me to the chair click open and I am hoisted onto my feet. The sudden movement causes a wave of nausea to wash over me and my knees bend in weakness. However, it is the tight grip on either of my arms that prevents me from falling. I look forward, watching blurry eyed as the president makes his way towards the door without even a second glance in my direction. A guardsman opens the entrance and he leaves seemingly without rush nor hesitation.

"Let's go."

The grips on my arms tighten and I am left powerless as the two guards lead me away towards a door opposite to where the president had left from. Neither of them offer a word nor letter of conversation as we walk side by side down a long, poorly lit, windowless hallway. My chest feels heavy from the weight of anxiety, my mind muddled with broken thoughts of 'what if's and 'what is to come'. What will they do to me? Why in Panem do they not believe of my innocence? Finally, after minutes drawn out far too long for my liking, we come to a halt in front of a thick, silver door adorned only with a single control panel. One of the guards, the more muscular of the two, reaches forward and quickly inputs a code. There is a click, a groan, and the door eases open within seconds.

I am hustled inside the room before the door slides closed again. As if turned on my some motion, the lights flicker on to reveal what almost appears to be some sort of simple bathroom. The floor in concrete, the two-wall shower a sort of slick metal like titanium. It sparks thought it holds no beautiful, only purity that a clean that is meant to hide a secret brings. A shiver runs down my spine, my blood freezing within each artery and vein my body possesses. Why in Panem have they brought me here?

"Clothes off."

At first, I wonder if I have heard them right. That perhaps I was so caught up in my own thoughts that their words were scrambled upon entrance into my ears. I turn my head slightly, looking towards the guardsmen. When their brows just raise in wait, I know that what I thought I heard was to be true. They actually desire for me to strip down in front of them as if I were some loose harlot or child's doll.

"You do not expect me to remove my garments in front of you, do you?" My tone for the first time since my awakening holds its usual volume.

"That or we cut them from you," the muscular guard says with a nod. "Uniformity. Each inmate must look like the next. It's protocol." And for the first time I notice the pair of simple, gray pants and shirt that sit on a small table off towards the side. The material looks thin, cold, like some sort of strange working out jumpsuit that perhaps a more privileged District Twelve citizen would be able to afford. But they are not some luxury for some less fortunate creature than I. No, they are meant for me.

"We do not have all day, Ms. Trinket," it is the other guard who speaks this time. "You may be with child, but as of now, you are custody of the law. We have the reserved right to use force to get you to follow the rules of the penitentiary."

No freedom. No opinion. I might as well have done what they so accuse me of doing. My treatment would be no different. I remove my clothing quickly, cheeks burning with embarrassment as the guards do not even have the decency to advert their eyes in the slightest. When I am finished, I stand there naked, unprotected, while desperately trying to shield as much as myself as I can with my arms. But it is no use. I am still as vulnerable no matter how I try. My eyes glance over to the clothing, hoping that now I will be allowed to at least cover myself. However, mortification does not end soon as, much to my horror, the guards point towards the shower.

There is no point in arguing. No point in trying to reason. My words are but nonsense to them. As much understanding as a tongue uttering a foreign language would be. Subservient or being forced are my only two options. For my own well being and that of my child's, perhaps the only rational part of me knows the latter of the two is correct. I step into the shower and at once, the cold spray of water hits me. My arms constrict around my chest, my back arching slightly as shivers ripple throughout my body. At some point during the bath, my wig slides off and my natural hair, tucked neatly underneath, falls to my shoulders, knotting and sticking to the sides of my face and neck as the downpour continues. My makeup washes away, perfection at its finest with it. I no longer look physically as I once did only minutes before. Now I look dirty, perhaps even sickly as a street urchin. Teeth chattering, I dig my fingers into the flesh of my palms, trying, forbidding the building scream in my throat from escaping. I am beginning to crack.

The guards finally turn off the water and I step from the cold walls of the shower. Puddles trail behind me as I walk in defeat towards the uniform that now waits for me. The muscular guard does not even offer me a towel as he hands me first the pants and then finally the shirt. I slip them on, the material quickly soaking up the water that covers the goosebumps on my body. At once, the clothing feels heavy now drenched in water but I no longer care. I have no reason to. If anything, I should just be grateful that this is only what has happened to me so far. But I'm not. And if my reason for being here, being like this, is due to something-some stupid, neglectful thing-Haymitch has done, then I cannot help but allow myself to despise him. No matter how strong, nor how wrong the emotion of hate is. No matter how much some side of me still cares deeply for him.

Once again, the guards take a hold of my arms and I am whisked away from the bathroom. Silence befalls the air as we make our way through the corridor, this path seemingly longer than the last. My head hangs low, my stomach churning as shivers still rack my body. Where do we journey now? Do I even desire to know? Where ever our destination lies, its end holds no thoughts nor even a glimmer of pleasantness. And my chest rises with worried breath as we come to a stop in front of an even smaller door.

Just as the bathroom door had, this one too holds a control panel. One of the guards leans forward and types in a code. The door clicks as the last one had, however this time, he grasps the handle instead of allowing it to slide open. With a flick of his wrist, he pulls it open finally revealing the contents of the room inside. No windows, no furniture, just a plain, concrete room. And it's then that I notice the figure that cowers in the center of it.

She too sports the same outfit as I. However, when I look closer, hers is stain with something dark and seemingly red. A color that makes my stomach twist and knot. Blood. Her skin, a once beautiful mocha, is laden with large, ugly bruises of purples and blacks. New, unhealed signs of pain. She seems to cringe away at the sound of the door opening. Her dark hair, short and matted curls, falls against her face. As she lifts her head, for the first time my eyes finally meet the nearly swollen shut lids of hers. My heart stops, my blood freezes. Instantly I am hit by a wave of emotion that engulfs my body in an unsaid anguish like no other. For I recognize the woman who cowers so helplessly in front of me. Whose wounds hurt me more as if they have been inflicted onto my own person.

Shakily her arms extend forward, reaching out towards me. Her mouth is unmoving but her eyes sparkle with such a fear, and yet, such a relief, that I have no words to describe it. And I find myself unable to move. Unable to do anything except utter the single world that burns my tongue in more ways than I can say.

"Portia?"

**Alright, so because Effie is pregnant, I will not be torturing her in such ways as "hijacking" or anything else SC did to her characters in the book. I am going on more along the lines of emotional torture as you saw Snow trying to do. He wants to break Effie because he feels she knows something and she isn't telling him (which we all know she doesn't). And slowly, I'm trying to tie in her father (as I said I would when I wrote about the dream with him in it). Anyway, that will make more sense later. And don't worry, Haymitch will be showing up again very soon and as any normal person would feel, he is not a happy camper to know that Effie had been taken. He does love Effie in his own Haymitch way. He just doesn't know how to express things. At least Effie has Portia...for now... On another note, Baby Abernathy will be making its appearance very soon! Or, at least, will start arriving very soon! **

**Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated. Helps make each chapter grow in length and in deliverance! I cannot tell you how much it means to me! All of the support I have received so far is just so incredible! I cannot ever thank you guys enough! You truly are the greatest readers any writer could ask for! Virtual hug for each and every one of you lovely individuals! I have some tests to study for but I have Monday off from school so hopefully I can start working on the next chapter! Thanks for reading, guys! I hope you enjoyed it! -Jen**


	31. An Unjustifiable End

**The word 'thank you' is not nearly a strong enough word to describe what I wish to say to you now. Never since I joined this site back in December of 2008 at the age of thirteen did I ever fathom the idea that I would write a story that would surpass one thousand reviews. However, on Sunday, this fanfiction did as such and it is all due to such wonderful, such amazing readers as yourselves. The moment I saw the review number had reached one thousand exact, I began to cry (tears of joy, of course). You all are just so incredible and I am just so grateful and I truly hope you realize how appreciative I am of each feedback message, whether it be a review, an alert, or favorite, I receive. So, as always, a warm, straight from my very heart thank you to Clara Meliza, All For Jesus****, ****LadyLily06****, ****Adessa101****, ****kelliejo19****, ****American Fantasy****, ****Abby and Liv Snigglebottom****, ****Deadlyrose70****, ****Erica Abernathy****, ****SassMonster****, ****grumpirah****, ****sophy2431****, ****DrGiggles****, ****Rippl****, ****Guest****, ****lovingtheboywiththebread****, ****Savysnape7****, ****moonlight goose****, ****Minerva-Amantine****, ****JulialovesLovato****, ****XmadlyinloveX****, ****Alice****, ****HogwartsDreamer113****, ****nic****, ****sportygirl23****, ****The Hunger Games-My Life****, ****Bluestarisawesome****, ****Whovian-CapitolGirl****, ****BfHGsiriusluver****, and ****Guest ****for your kind comments about the last chapter. Now, without anymore wait, here is the next installment of this story.**

Chapter twenty nine: An Unjustifiable End

For a moment, I am numb. My mind, still traumatized from previous events, unable to comprehend the sight before me. Though it is a cruel thought, one that sickens me greatly, I do not even wish to look at Portia right now. At her battered body. At the way her tongue darts from between her swollen lips to wet the split that bleeds from the lower of the two. Her appearance is horrifying, yet to no fault of her own. And try as I may, despite how much I desire to, I simply cannot look away.

The sound of the prison door closing behind me lets out a bang so loud, so unexpected, that I nearly jump in surprise. However, my limbs, aching from a combination of the drug and today's events, prevent me from doing as such. Instead I allow myself to take a few steps closer to Portia, hesitant of what to say or how to even go about with her in this condition. Though, despite what obvious pain she must be in, her bruised lips curve into a smile of sympathy, one hand extended towards my own. As gently as I can, I take it within my grasp, averting my eyes from the dried blood that lies under each fingernail like crudely done nail polish.

"Oh Effie," her voice wavers. "They arrested you as well?" Her fingers wrap around my hand slowly. For a split second her features contort into a grimace as if the mere movement has caused her great agony. Though, quickly as it came, the expression melts away and the weak smile forms once more. "You shouldn't be here. You have done nothing wrong. Nothing wrong…" She inhales, the breath sounding labored. "Have they hurt you?"

"No, no," I cannot even meet her eyes as I speak to her. Instead, I focus on the ground that lies underneath us. At the smooth, dark concrete that is as cold as the very atmosphere of this room. "No one has laid a finger on me. I am unharmed." Forcing myself, I lift my gaze to meet hers for a brief moment. "Portia, what has happened to you? What have they done?"

As it was before, her smile is one of sympathy. She shakes her head slowly, her blackened eyes looking away for a moment. "It does not matter now," she says softly. "It is over and with time, these wounds will heal. It is not something I much desire to focus on." Her hand tightens around mine for a moment before relaxing. "I'll be alright."

Silence falls between us briefly. I let it go undisturbed, seeing Portia needs a moment to recollect herself. What had the guards done to her? What terrible fate had befallen my dear friend? And, as unthoughtful as it was, I cannot help but wonder if I too will suffer a similar punishment. Fear rises within me at the idea and without meaning to, I grip Portia's hand tightly. Her eyes, which had been closed only seconds before, open slowly. She looks to meet my gaze as concern becomes evident in her features.

"Effie?" Her voice is gentle and I cannot help but feel guilty. How ironic it is that she speaks with such worry towards me when it is I who should be showing her more concern. "Effie, is everything alright?"

Nodding briskly, I loosen my hold on her. "Forgive me, I was deep in thought." Once again, I meet her gaze. "The others," I say, suddenly remembering the rest of the party that traveled with the both of us to the Capitol. "Are they-"

"I don't know," she cuts me off, sorrow evident in her voice. "Not that I am aware of, but I hold as much knowledge on that subject as you do." She pauses, her eyes closing momentarily as she regains her breath. "It is a cruel wish but," she looks off towards the cell door. "I can only hope that the children are in the arena and not within this place. At least there, Katniss and Peeta have each other. And as long as they have one another, they are safe. As for the others; Cinna, the prep teams, and..." her swollen lips press together tightly. I know which final name she hesitates to say for it too, sits unmoved on the tip of my tongue. "I pray for them. For their safety," she finishes.

Once more, the conversation falls quiet. Trying to focus on other thoughts, I run my hand through the strands of tangled hair that lay unpleasantly against my face. My skin itches, irritated and cold from the still wet uniform I am now forced to wear. For the moment, hunger and discomfort mask my fear and my confusion. But the mere idea of a full meal seems almost laughable now. And though I wish to believe that perhaps my captors would have the decency to offer us food, I have already begun to doubt the humanity of those who hold us. My stomach growls loudly and the corners of my lips twitch, threatening to fade into a frown at the less than satisfying noise.

"I wish I had something to offer you," Portia's voice breaks the silence. "But I'm afraid that not even water has been brought to me yet."

Heat rushes to my cheeks almost immediately after she finishes speaking. I look away for a moment, embarrassed-even though it's ridiculous-at the fact that my stomach's grumbling went unnoticed. "I'll be fine," I assure her, the words coming out strained. "I'm sure someone will bring something along eventually. They must."

"Perhaps you're right."

Silence comes far too much for my liking as another moment of pause comes over the conversation. During it, I can hear how heavy Portia breathes; how she wheezes and struggles for air with each gasp. Her ability to hide her pain is one to be commemorated but knowing she is doing so for me causes guilt to rise in my chest. Portia is brave and I know it is not for herself-it's for me. And I, nothing more than a coward, a mere shell of my old existence, deserve none of it.

"Have you and Haymitch decided upon a name?"

Raising my eyes from the floor, I see Portia watching me curiously. At the mention of a name for my unborn child, my gaze immediately falls to the swell of my stomach. "No," my lips twitch into a soft frown. "We never did settle on one. We aren't even sure if it's a boy or girl." Turning my attention, I begin to tug on the cuff of my sleeve attempting to loosen the fabric that lays tight against my arm. "Even if we did know the gender, I doubt we would even have a name chosen by now."

"Why do you say that?" She asks curiously, her brow slightly furrowed.

I shake my head, my lips pursed. "Either there would be an argument or he just wouldn't care enough to offer his opinion. It seems those are the only two responses Haymitch Abernathy ever has to anything I say." Then, without even meaning to, a laugh escapes from my mouth. "Our last words to each other before my...incarceration were those of a quarrel. I'm sure the drunken fool is relieved to have me not in his presence."

"Effie," Portia's tone is serious now. "I highly doubt that. I know for a fact that the last thing Haymitch would ever want was for you to be imprisoned-"

"Then why is he not here?!" I snap. "Why has he left me here, in this place, alone? Why am I being questioned about some rebellion that I know nothing about?! What lies has he told me? What secrets has he kept? For the love of Panem, haven't I the slightest right to know?"

My outburst can only be described childish. Rude. A conversation that makes me sound far less mature than I really am. And perhaps being trapped in here, trapped with so many unanswered questions that others believe I have the information to was making me immature. That finally, after so long, I am breaking. Losing it. For all that I have ever know, ever loved, crumbles like a District Four sand castle to the ground around me.

"You have every right to know," and finally, Portia speaks, her voice low. "Every reason to be told. Every question to be answered. But," her eyes lock on my own. "You must trust me when I say to you that I cannot enlighten you with such answers. You must believe me when I say that I do so for your own sake. Your own safety." Through the dim glow of the lights in the cell, I can see the desperation now present on her face. "You must trust me."

Trust. A word that I have grown to despise. Outrage fills my very being as I try hard to contain what little of my dignity I have left. So it was true. Portia was in on whatever Haymitch had kept from me all of this time. And if she was, Cinna had been as well. Perhaps even the children were. And as much as I had tried to convince myself otherwise of such thoughts, of such theories of their betrayal to me, Portia's previous words had proved my most horrifying thoughts to be reality.

"So," my tone is unmistakably sharp. "All of this time, you have known what has been going on?" She simply nods, a look of shame now replacing the desperation. "And you all have decided against letting me in because you deem me unworthy of caring for myself? That I might as well be some child who needs constant attention?"

"That is not it at all," she shakes her head. "Haymitch has his reasons-"

I cut her off, no longer in the mood to correct my recent lack of manners. "And those would be?"

She looks down, "I...cannot say."

"Of course you can't." My lips press firmly together as I look away. This time, however, it is out of anger. "At least tell me-you owe me that much-this rebellion I was questioned about," I turn my attention back to her. "Is Haymitch involved? Fully involved?" She gives a single nod and my stomach lurches. "And...you? Cinna?" She nods again. "The children?!"

"No," she replies softly. "At least, they were not when I last saw them. They knew nothing, I assure you. In a sense, perhaps you had a better idea that something was beginning than they did. Or, at least, sensed something was going on..." She falls silent for a moment. "Effie, Haymitch is a good man. He would never want to hurt you. None of us would. And this," her chest rises. "You never were supposed to have been captured. And I know Haymitch will never forgive himself for that. None of us will."

The conversation ceases after that with neither of us offering nor even finding the will to speak. As the minutes tick away into hours, time begins to slip away from me. Without a clock nor even a window to allow us the sight of the sun, I am left with no knowledge of when a day begins or when it ends. Portia's condition begins to deteriorate and what little food they give us, she hardly touches. Cruelly, as if she has not been through enough, it becomes almost constant that the Peacekeepers come and pull her from the cell in the dead of our slumber. When she returns, she has not even the strength to crawl passed the cell entrance, her body so battered, so damaged, it's as if she has gone and dyed herself with horrid blotches of blacks, blues, and purples. And I am left wondering if they will come for me. If the next unexpected arrival of guards will tear me from my sleep and drag me away. Away to the nightmare Portia relives so often that I am left only to imagine by her inflicted body.

"They're going to kill me, Effie."

For the first time in hours, Portia speaks, the words escaping from her dry lips in a rasp. From the corner she now tends to station herself in after each interrogation session, she turns her head slowly, her face now so swollen, she can no longer open her eyes. Fear strikes my heart at the horror of her words. With what little strength I have left, I pull myself over to her. My hand, now a skeleton of its old self, shakily runs through the knots of her dark hair, more for my comfort than her own.

"Don't speak such words," I whisper, unable to hide my own fright. "Don't say something so ridiculous, so silly."

"I am to be executed. President Snow informed me himself." And through the hallow breaths she takes, I almost swear I can hear my own heart pounding. "I am not sure when, but I know that they grow weary of wasting their food rations on me. My life will not be spared for much longer."

"Portia," my voice is already thick with emotion. "No...They wouldn't possibly kill you. On what charges?! They have yet to even take you into court. The law-"

"There is no justice anymore," she inhales sharply as if she struggles to find air. "At least, for me there is none."

Already I can feel the tears pooling in my eyes. How disgusting it is for me to weep when it is my friend who should cry in sorrow for her own life. Vigorously, I wipe at my eyes, trying to rid myself of such waterworks before they become full blown. However, try as I may, I cannot suppress the shuttering breath one takes while sobbing and Portia moves her head slightly, obviously aware of what is now happening.

"Oh, do not cry over me, Effie," Portia reaches out, her hand resting against my arm. "Death is no punishment to me. It is liberation. And I know, truly, it will not be in vain."

I turn my head away, still wiping roughly at my watering eyes. "You ask me not to cry over you, but I cannot help but feel pity. You are my friend, Portia. I simply cannot lose a friend. I simply cannot lose you." Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes for a moment. "Perhaps, there is some way-something we can do. Perhaps..."

"Effie," Portia's voice sounds over my own. "Effie, look at me."

Obediently, I move to face her once more. Her hand curls around my arm but does not tighten painfully. Through what little light we are given now, I watch in amazement as she tries to open her eyes. Past the swollen flesh and ugly bruises, I see the dark chocolate eyes that hold such friendliness, such kindness, that I foolishly never appreciated when I had the chance.

"There is nothing you can do for me," she says. "And this is at no fault of your own. My journey has come to and end, but yours is only beginning. In a few weeks, you'll have a baby. A little boy or girl, and you raise them right. You hear me, Effie? You raise them right and you raise them far from the place!" Her voice breaks and I can feel myself losing the willpower to hold back my own hysteria. "You will be a great mother, Effie. You and Haymitch both, will be the best parents that child can have. And for the first time, your child can grow up in a world where suppression is no more. Where fear of death is not common. Where there will no longer be The Hunger Games."

"Portia..." I whisper.

"Do you love him, Effie?" she cuts me off. A sudden spark, a sudden sense of strength back in her tone. "Do you love him? Haymitch Abernathy?"

Haymitch Abernathy. The drunk, mannerless, obscene mentor from District Twelve. The man who gives me chills of disgust and yet, has caused the blood to flow all to my cheeks in blush. A liar. A betrayer. The man who offered me his own home. The father to my child. We came from two separate worlds. His of coal dust and mine of the utmost glamour. And yet, this man had opened my eyes to far more these past several months than they had been in my thirty eight years of existence. With my opened eyes came with it, an open heart. And though this man had caused me great anger, great distress on more than one occasion, I could not help but feel an emotion that so long I had suppressed from myself.

"Yes..." I finally say. "Yes, I love Haymitch Abernathy." So few words suddenly felt so right as they fell effortless from my tongue.

But such a slight glimmer of happiness quickly fades as the cell door swings open. Almost immediately, the room is swarmed with Peacekeepers. It's then, that I find myself being hoisted upward and Portia's hand falls away. Our eyes meet briefly, one final gaze of horror at the realization that this time, it is me whose being summoned away. She reaches upward and grasps my pants leg, but her hand is quickly kicked away by a guardsman's foot. There is a crunch, as if the blunt force has caused the bones in her fingers to snap, and her hand is quickly withdrawn. As they pull me away, I catch one last fleeting glimpse of Portia lying crumpled on the floor. She looks to me, agony evident in her eyes as her hand lays clutched to her chest. Her mouth moves and I can barely make out the words '_be brave_' before I lose complete sight of her. Deep down, though I try to convince myself otherwise, I know that I will never see her again.

There is no strength left within me to even resist in the slightest the guards as they escort me down the long stretch of hallway. What horrors lie ahead, I am unsure. But the pain for my soon to be fallen friend writhes in me greatly. Finally, we come to a halt in front of thick metal door. My body goes rigid, my heart pounding heavily within my chest as one of the guards inputs a code that sends the door sliding open. I am led inside, sat down in a single chair that reminds me greatly of the one I first was in upon my arrival here, and cuffed to its arms. The Peacekeepers step back just as a second entrance in the room opens and a figure with an all too familiar aroma enters.

"Ms. Trinket," President Snow's face holds no smile as he takes a seat in front of me. "It's been awhile."

It's as if he has aged a few decades since I last saw him. His skin is weathered and seemingly grey. His eyes tired, dark circles looming underneath in heavy bags. The odor of his rose seems to be even stronger than ever as if he is attempting to mask some other scent. What ever had been going on in the outside world had taken a toll on him in more ways than his outward appearance. And a chill runs down my spine as he clears his throat. This meeting would not be as forgiving as our first.

"I found myself contemplating many ways to begin this conversation between us but finally, I decided it best to cut to the point. After all, I have not the time anymore for small talk." He leans forward, his thick brows furrowing. "Your rebel friends have gone too far this time, Ms. Trinket. I must admit, of all the things I had expected, never did the destruction of the arena cross my mind." My stomach drops. The arena had been destroyed? My face must have contorted into a look of horror for President Snow's features deepened with displeasure. "But I found it hardly shocking that it had been your Katniss Everdeen who caused the arena's explosion."

"Katniss?" Her name escapes from my lips before I can catch myself.

He nods, "Yes. But such an act cost her, her own life and several of her fellow tributes' as well." Nausea begins to build within me as he continues. "We managed to retrieve Peeta Mellark and a few others before the entire arena fell to rubble. He is here in the Capitol now as a matter of fact. In critical condition, but here."

Katniss is dead. Those words still try to sink into my mind when he mentions Peeta. Did the poor boy even know of his love's demise? And what of the child she carried? Lost with its mother? The urge to vomit hits me but my stomach is empty of any contents. Instead, I have no choice but to listen to him speak. To hear of the happenings that I had no idea in Panem were to have commenced and what consequences would follow. Now two of my dear friends were gone or would be from this world. The Girl on Fire had finally smoldered away into the ages. Had her legacy with it?

"It's been several years since a stunt this large has been pulled against the Capitol." Snow's voice shatters my thoughts and I am pulled from my sorrow. "Thirty five to be correct," his nostrils flare. "However, like the rebellion prior to this one, this act of defiance shall be put to an end." There is a moment of pause. "Do you remember the day your father left, Ms. Trinket? Or were you perhaps too young to even pay attention?"

My blood goes cold. "No, sir." I say softly, unsure of what my late father had to do with any of this conversation. "My mother said he died in a car accident when I was three. How would I possibly-"

"Martialis Trinket," he interrupts. "A well known newspaper editor for the Capitol Daily and an active advocate for district equality and ceasement of The Hunger Games as I would later learn," he leans in close. "Were you aware that your father attempted to lead a rebellion during the time of the Fortieth Annual Hunger Games? He and an elite group of Capitol citizens attempted to sabotage the arena in order to prohibit any Games from ever occurring after that year. However, a few of his followers lost faith in the cause and ended up informing the authorities of this attack. And thankfully, we were able to put to a stop before too much damage was done. Most of the rebels were killed on site, but somehow your father managed to make it back home before he was apprehended there."

Suddenly realization hits me like an oncoming train. The dream. It had been no dream at all. The little girl and her father. Their tearing apart. What I had believed previously to be nothing of concern was none other than a suppressed memory brought back to me after years of forgotten. I look towards the floor, trying to recollect myself as my heartbeat quickens, nausea hitting me in wave after wave. My father, a rebel. A betrayer of the Capitol. A hero in the eyes of some and an evil in the gaze of others.

"Do not commit such a crime against your home as your father did, Ms. Trinket." President Snow says quietly. "Allow us to help one another out. You share with me the rebels' next move and I will make sure that your actions go noted. Think of it in this sense, Ms. Trinket. Not only will you be helping yourself, but saving the lives of many others as well. You do not wish to be the cause of deaths due to some unnecessary war do you?"

"Sir," my hands shake in their binds so much so, that the rattling of the chains nearly overpowers my voice. "You must believe me. I know nothing of this rebellion nor of its plans! I have always been loyal to the Capitol. I am an escort of the Games! Is that not enough to prove my allegiance?"

President Snow's puffy lips open as if he is about to reply when the second door opens again. "Sir," it's a Peacekeeper. "Peeta Mellark has awaken now. We thought it best you know."

President Snow draws his handkerchief from his pocket and proceeds to cough violently into it. When his hacking subsides, he slips the cloth into his pocket and clears his throat. "Very well," he stands up slowly, his eyes not meeting my own. "Take her away," he says to one of the guards who stands behind me. "I haven't the time for nonsense now. There are others whom I can get information from just as easily."

The president walks away through the open door as simply as he came. So Peeta's consciousness had saved me, but at what cost to his own? There is a click, and even before I have taken full notice, I am unlocked from the chair. With a rough grip on either of my arms, I am moved upright once again and shuffled from the room. However this time, we pass the cell I once occupied and travel further down the hallway. And once more, I realize that no longer am I out of danger yet.

My ankles ache from the prolonged walk as the hallway becomes less and less illuminated the farther we travel. Neither of the guards pays even a quick glance at me as we stop in front of a smaller door than the others. A code is entered and, like every other door in the prison, it glides open. Of the two guards who are with me, one enters into the small compartment first before ushering me and then finally, the other guard in. The door closes behind us and a motion light flickers on only to reveal a second door in the already cramped area. Through careful maneuvering, one of the guards slips his arm forward and presses a code into the keypad. The door clicks and the entrance opens to darkness.

"Inside," a voice barks. I turn my head to look at the one who has spoken. One of the guards, the smaller of the two, points towards the opening. "Inside," he repeats.

There is no way. No possible way he can think that even one person can fit into that room. I alone would have the only option of standing or at great length, sitting within such a small amount of space. But before I have even a moment to protest, the guards nudge me effortlessly into the tiny quarters and the door closes, locking with an echoing click. The darkness swallows me whole and I enter a hell that has no name nor sound. A torture like no other. Silence.

Minutes pass. Hours. Maybe even days and weeks. At least when I had the company of Portia, it had been nearly bearable. Now I am alone. I begin to lose my sense of reality. My sense of rational thought. Am I awake? Do I sleep? My dreams are blank with no indication if I'm conscious or not. My eyes open and close to blackness. The physical pain I feel externally from my aching muscles and internally from the slightest pressure from my child, can't be offered nor given any relief. When I do not stand, I sit, the cold concrete hard on my being. Somehow-and perhaps it occurs when I do sleep-I find a bowl of food and some form of liquid on a small tray within the small space of my prison. I devour it like an animal. Never is it enough to satisfy me. And soon, I find myself envying Portia. Perhaps, even now, death was liberation. Anything was better than the anxiety of not knowing what could possibly come next.

But finally, however long it has been, my cell door opens and someone takes a hold of me. I do not fight back. I welcome their grasp as they pull me stiffly from the room. When the light finally is turned on, the intensity is so bold to my weak eyes that I am forced to look away. Moments pass, and slowly, my eyes adjust to the new found brightness. For the first time, I see how pale, how skinny-despite my stomach-I have become. It is as if I have become part of the living dead myself.

"Keep walking."

Those are the first words I hear since I was first locked away. Looking to my side, I see the Peacekeeper that has retrieved me from the cell. He frowns softly, his grip on my arm tightening. I walk slowly, my legs wobbly and unstable from lack of use as we make our way into the corridor There, we are met by another Peacekeeper, and my other arm is taken a hold of. But I find this offensive means helpful, for I now find it hard to keep myself upright.

"Where are we going?" My voice is hoarse from lack of use, but sound is better than silence.

The Peacekeeper who joined us-with what I assume is out of pity for me-inhales. "President Snow requests to speak with you." He says sternly, keeping up the brisk pace I find it nearly impossible to copy. "Urgent matters."

Perhaps he wishes to inform me of my execution date. Perhaps now it has been determined that I am to die. I should be frightened. I should be scared. Maybe I even should be falling to my knees and pleading for my life. But I am not. I do not. I feel nothing. No fear. No remorse. Only numbness. Just as Portia had acted before I last saw her. I neither accept nor deny what fate has in store for me next. I only feel sorrow towards my child. For it will suffer for the actions that have been placed upon me.

Footsteps come from the opposite direction of where we walk and I, without thinking, look up. To my shock, before me, walking in between two Peacekeepers, is the blond haired boy whose name I called that fateful day those several months back. Peeta. Suddenly, as if feeling as flooded back to me again, I feel a surge of energy. For the first time in weeks, I see someone I know. Someone I am happy to see under conditions far from joy. I watch him, unable to find the ability to move my legs. However, stare as I may, he does not seem to take notice of me or even lift his head.

"Peeta." The name escapes too quiet for even my guards to hear. I try again, "Peeta!"

His head finally lifts and I barely recognize his features. Bruised, bloodied, his eyes meet my own and I watch them go wide. His own lips move, no forming without sound the letters of my name. As I had been, he too is obviously shocked to see me here. But before I have even a moment to reply, I am shoved roughly in what I'm sure, is an attempt to keep me moving. The reaction is opposite.

The guard who nudged me had done so, so strongly, that my knees, still weak from lack of use, give way and I crumple to the ground. My hands splay out as I try to catch myself, but the impact is too great. It's then that the pain strikes me. A merciless, sharp muscle spasm that shoots from my lower abdomen so violently, it's as if someone has stabbed me with a knife. My arms wrap around my stomach, a scream building in my dry throat as the pain intensifies like none I have felt before. And without having ever experienced a pain such as this before, I know what it is. A contraction. An unmistakable sign of labour.

And finally, fear finds me once again.

**So finally, Effie is in labor! You know what that means...Baby Abernathy is coming! But note that her water has not broken yet, so it's not too full blown yet. Anyway, I know this is a long chapter, I wanted to get a lot of information in. Hopefully how I did so wasn't confusing nor too rushed (and yes, a few weeks passed but I mean rush in a sense it was confusing). I didn't want to spend an incredibly long time going into detail what was occurring in Effie's lonely cell because really, not much happened besides her standing in there (and I highly doubt any of you want me to go into vast detail and description about her standing). And so I don't get a thousand questions about it, no, Katniss isn't really dead. Oh, for those who are curious, Effie is around thirty six weeks pregnant which is considered usually the earliest full term. Also, I feel horrible about Portia's death in the books (since she didn't even get much attention) but I'm hoping in this story, I justified her character and made her last moments meaningful. **

**Anyway, feedback is greatly loved and appreciated. It keeps me writing and may even help convince me and give me the extra push to make sure Haymitch does not miss the birth of his child *insert nervous laugh*. And it really does help me when I know your thoughts about a chapter! Anywho, I really hope you enjoyed this chapter despite it's dark undertone. Ultimately, I think there are about nine or so chapters left in this story before it's complete (not sure if that total includes the epilogue or not) but anyway, yes! Thanks so much for reading! -Jen**


	32. Unveiling the Light

**IMPORTANT! Please read last author's note when you finish reading this chapter. It will answer many questions you may or might have, I believe! Anywho, first off, I'd like to say thank you so much XmadlyinloveX, wrathofsatan, Savysnape7, Bluestarisawesom, FunnyPuffins1600, sportygirl23, Guest11, American Fantasy, SassMonster, Deadlyrose70, Kat, Adessa101, All For Jesus, Nurse Kelly, Clara Meliza, Erica Abernathy, Minerva-Amantine, Rippl, Guest, moonlight goose, lovingtheboywiththebread, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, kelliejo19, Right Hand Blue, grumpirah, CharWilliams, PinkAngel23, raysviola, HogwartsDreamer113, Whovian-CapitolGirl, kitty4600, pinkish-red hearts, nic, Anna, JulialovesLovato, CloveLudwig99, Alice, katieeeeeee, Guest, Carissa101910, and Thalia Mellark for your wonderful feedback about last chapter! It seriously helped with motivating me while working on this chapter. On the topic of chapters, without further ado, here is the next one!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. All rights to Suzanne Collins.**

Chapter thirty: Unveiling the Light

For a moment, it's as if all the air has escaped from the room. My body fails me. My lungs struggling to catch the much needed breath I desire. Every muscle within me throbs, twisting and aching as if someone is attempting to contort them into some unnatural position. I find myself unable to think, to focus on anything else but the agony that now festers in my very being in an uncontrollable state. Seconds pass, perhaps even minutes, but with time its power merely intensifies. I am left weak, crouching on the floor as the pain shoots in waves throughout my lower abdomen. And then, as quickly and unexpected as it came, it fades away without a trace; its fury much that of a summer thunderstorm. With its departure, oxygen finds me once again; my tense position relaxing as my lungs fill with the vital air that I could not find previously.

Strangely though, of all of the possible thoughts to come to mind at this moment, the one that does seems rather silly. Almost pointless. My curiosity of why, until now, have I not even fathomed about the idea of labor. The simple, yet complex things. About where I would deliver, of what precautions and steps I would take. What it might feel like or maybe, what I may do to relieve such discomforts it would bring. Perhaps it was pure stupidity on my part, not concerning myself with such arrivals like that of my child's. Though, even if I had considered such things as birth, never would it have ever occurred to me that it would come so suddenly; or even in a location that was equally as undesirable as the pain that the contractions would surely bring forth. But it is happening. Merciless. Unannounced. Unforgiving. Springing forth without so much as a moment of peace. Such repetition would be so, I knew, until the task at hand was finished. And the mere thought of what awaits me, causes the fear to build in my chest even greater.

However my worrying is short lived. All too soon, even before I can regain back what little strength I had left before the contraction hit, the familiar pressure of someone gripping my arms is felt and quickly I am hoisted back into a standing position. Nausea rises in the pit of my stomach; my knees trembling unsteadily as I am held into place. I find myself blinking several times, feeling lightheaded and in dire need of water. When I lift my gaze, hoping for a glimmer of sympathy from my guardsmen, neither even offer a glance towards me in acknowledgment. But surely they know what has just happened. Surely they realize. They must. Yet, their straightforward looks, faces expressionless, hold no recognition.

"Effie!"

The voice pulls me from the fog of my thoughts. Its cry hoarse, strained as if it fights to be heard. When I turn my head in the direction of the sound, I see Peeta, remembering once again that we now both occupy this hallway. He looks to me, blue eyes wild with a ferocity that no words can describe. And if there is some stray hope of escaping, he begins to struggle against the hold of his guards. His arms thrash violently, yanking against their vise grips as he tries to break free. But his efforts, whether they be to aid me or to save himself, prove futile, and I can only watch as one of the guard's brings his elbow hard against Peeta's temple and the blond victor falls to his knees, motionless and silenced.

"Come on."

The burlier of my two guards takes a step forward; his hand still curled around my upper arm. His eyes don't even fall to the unconscious victor and his coworkers who stand but a mere few yards from us. No, it's as if he is not fazed by what has just occurred in the least bit. He looks to the second guard and gives a firm nod. As if nothing has prevented us previously, we move swiftly down the hallway and I am only able to catch one last fleeting glimpse of Peeta as he is dragged in the opposite direction.

There is no comfortable pace. No leisurely walking as we travel down the empty corridor. My feet ache with each step, ankles swollen and stiff from pregnancy and lack of exercise. If it were not for the hold of my guardsmen, I would have fallen behind long ago. But their quick strides keep me in a persistent walk and promptly, we arrive at the all too familiar door with the keypad whose ominous click I have memorized. One of the guards reaches forward, his fingers barely brushing against the buttons when there is a shout from behind.

"Halt."

The three of us turn simultaneously and I see that it is a Peacekeeper who has uttered the word. He stands a few feet away, his stature straight and intimidating. Through the glare of his face shield, I see the dark hairs of his brows as they furrow, lips pressed into a crude thin line. I feel the grip on my left arm tightening. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the burlier guard frowning, perhaps displeased with the interruption.

"You are not permitted to enter the interrogation room at this time," the Peacekeeper says.

"On what orders?" My guard presses. "We were informed by the president to escort this prisoner to this location on this hour."

"President Snow himself has ordered that no prisoners be removed from their cells at this time." The Peacekeeper says, his tone void of any emotion. "Some matters have come up that have taken priority over any other events in his schedule today."

"Might I inquire what such matters would be?" The guard asks venomously, his jaw clenched in disapproval. "If it is so important, why has President Snow not contacted me himself with such information regarding your statement?"

"As I had stated previously, the president is preoccupied at the moment," the Peacekeeper says firmly. "Unfortunately, I cannot disclose what matters have taken his attention at this time in the present audience." His eyes fall to me briefly before rising to meet those of the burlier guard's. "More may be discussed in greater detail later. For now," and his eyes fix on me once again. "The prisoner is to be returned to a cell on the second level of this establishment. Urgently."

The guard seems to pause for a moment, his expression holding much confusion. "The second floor?" His lips form the letters slowly as if he is carefully considering what he is about to say. "But that floor is reserved for prisoners who are about to be-"

"Transferred," the Peacekeeper finishes. "There is no mistake with the request, I assure you."

I needn't look at the guard to know he is staring at me. His breath tickles the back of my neck, causing the small hairs that lay translucent on its surface to rise. I know not of what this silence holds. Of what the importance the second floor has nor why the guard seems so baffled by its mention. But the mere uttering of that single word 'transferred' is enough to cause the blood in my veins to run cold.

"So be it," and the tightening of the guard's grip on my arm is enough to pull be back into reality. "We will place the prisoner where you so claim she is to be taken. But if your orders prove to be false-and I will be checking up on your report-it will be you who will be being escorted next time."

The Peacekeeper merely nods, seeming unfazed by the guard's threat. "Thank you for your cooperation." He glances down at his sleeve for a moment, eyes fixed on the communicator I now see is slapped upon his wrist. "I am required on the fourth floor now. I trust you can deliver her properly?"

"Without a question."

"Good."

The Peacekeeper turns on his heels and walks with purpose down the hallway. We stand unmoving until the gleam of his white uniform disappears around the bend. As the sound of his footsteps grows softer, the burlier guard clears his throat, his fingers curling and uncurling around my thin bicep.

"Let's go."

He takes the first step forward, the second guard nearly in sync with his movements. But before I even lift my foot in advancement, the familiar spasm of tightening muscles begins in my lower abdomen and my knees lock on command. Grinding my teeth together, my eyes squeeze shut automatically, the pain crippling me of any actions as the contraction becomes nearly unbearable.

"Should we inform the clinic of this?" The question is quiet, barely audible to my dulled senses as one of the guards addresses the other. "It's been fifteen minutes since the first time this occurred."

"You've kept track?" There is humor in the second voice.

"Not with much thought," the first says quietly. "Just an observation."

There is moment of pause. "It's not a concern right now," the second voice has grown serious, cold. "Our objective is to get her to her cell, not play paramedic. If it becomes an interest to the president later, then we will take more of a focus on the situation."

Heartless. Monstrous. Not a word of sympathy is muttered to me as they pull me forward, my legs having no choice but to bend and stretch in a walking manner. I am dehumanized, nothing more than an object in their work. My child, my baby, who has yet to be born to commit anything is punished for actions undeserved. Treatment defined as cruel and unusual in a place that I once glorified with such grace. The Capitol. Now bluntly shown to me in ways that Haymitch tried to warn me of. I, once blind, now see the truth before me. It's evidence so bold, it flaunts its horrid ways. And I, now nothing more than a prisoner in its walls.

I do not lift my head as I am led through the halls, wishing now more than ever to be sitting in my small cell rather than doing such treacherous walking. At least, it brings my abdominal muscles some comfort with these movements. And in such a time of silence, I cannot help but allow my mind to wander. Wander to Peeta and his condition. To Portia and if there is a glimmer of hope that she is still alive. To Haymitch and if he is thinking about me as I am him. To my baby, whose future I no longer know. So many thoughts with such little time to truly consider them.

Yet, I try. Try to concentrate on the tiny strings of humanity that still hold me grounded. And for a moment, it seems to work. But I am taken from my thoughts, my dreams, by the low rumbling that shakes the very foundation I stand upon. And for the first time in months, I see sunlight as the room before me explodes. The sharp, vibrant colors of a bomb's detonation bursting forth in front of my vision as I am knocked back by its mighty force. Warmth floods over me, encasing each limb as I grow feather light. I can only hear the murmuring of voices as I slip away into the darkness. My body cushioned by the once cold stone of the prison, now the bed of my liberation.

**Firstly, I apologize for the short chapter. I have surgery on Wednesday and I am just flustered as I try to get things done before it occurs. I wanted to give you a little something because I do not know if I will feel well enough to write during recovering and I didn't want to make you all wait any longer. So, time to explain a few things. I know there was a lot of thinking on Effie's part in this chapter, but I really wanted to get some of her emotions down. Sort of focus on how she has been broken in a sense. How being a prisoner has changed her outlook on things. **

**Secondly, with the guards. The Peacekeeper was not a rebel (I just wanted to make that clear) but the rebels were attacking the Capitol to rescue Peeta and the others. I always had this feeling in the books, that President Snow would try to move the prisoners elsewhere so the rebels couldn't get to them; which was why the guards were ordered to take Effie to the second floor where she was supposed to have been later taken from the building and to another location along with the others. However, the rebels had bombed the prison, but of course, no one had any idea Effie was in the hallway where the bomb was detonated from the outside. On a final note, no, Effie was not in the direct fire of the bomb. She was knocked back by the force but she wasn't in ground zero of the explosion. I don't want to mangle her or the baby or anything. I am evil, but not that bad. **

**The next chapter will be much longer with the arrival of Baby Abernathy (sorry if you all were expecting him/her this chapter. But I really needed to do this in order for some things to occur next chapter). So, be expecting a baby next chapter, MAJOR Hayffie fluff moments, MAJOR Hayffie confessions-lots of Hayffie, hopefully I can bring on some much needed feels. Also, I also wanted to do this chapter because I have been truly considering it (though, I really think I'll stick with my original choice) but, do you think that Effie should have a boy or a girl? Please understand that I mean nothing personal if your choice is not chosen, I am 99.8% sure of what it'll be, but I am curious as to what you think or want the baby to be. I'll leave a poll on my profile page for you all to vote if you so choose. **

**Anyway, thanks so much for reading! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated and might even help aid in my recovery process (or motivate me to say the least. Maybe it'll take the edge of the yucky painkillers I have to take). Anywho, I apologize for any lack of the letter 't' that may be absent in this chapter. My 't' button on my keyboard has been acting up. Thank you once again for reading and your support! If you have any questions, never hesitate to ask! I get back to people relatively quickly! -Jen**


	33. A Brighter Dawn

**Quickly, as lame as it sounds, I want to wish this story a happy birthday because on this exact date of last year, "Of Perfume, Liquor, and Baby Bottles" was born (or, created for that matter). Anyway, I'd just like to thank everyone who sent warm wishes and crossed fingers for me during my surgery. It went incredibly well and I already feel so much better! Secondly, as usual, a huge burst of gratitude to XilianXFan, Guest, kitty4600, grumpirah, Minerva-Amantine, American Fantasy, Savysnape7, All For Jesus, PinkAngel23, Gdreams, confusednikki24-7, gracie98, its-all-in-my-headxo, lovingtheboywiththebread, Rippl, Guest, SassMonster, HogwartsDreamer113, Deadlyrose70, Adessa101, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, Clara Meliza, bluestarisawesom, sportygirl23, blueskyblues, DrGiggles, CloveLudwig99, wicked 101, Right Hand Blue, Anna, XmadlyinloveX, ItsAllInYourHeadMyDear, Pixie hallow faerie, Guest, homicidalhufflepuffs, reppad98, BfHGsiriusluver, and asha74 for your kind and, as always, very inspiring comments for last chapter! Also, before I forget, please do read the author's note at the end of the chapter. Though it is still early (since this story has around eight or so chapters left before completion) I will be discussing my thoughts on possibly creating a sequel to this story and would be very curious to hear if any of you are interested in reading a sequel if I so choose to make one. Now, without any further ado, here is the next chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games; all rights reserved to Suzanne Collins. **

Chapter thirty one: A Brighter Dawn

It's the numbness that first catches my attention. The strange, yet undescrible absence of any feeling whatsoever throughout my body. No pain, no pleasure, just stillness. Absolute, undisturbed silence. Which at first brings, of all the thoughts to come to my mind-hazy as it may be-if I am dead. Or perhaps, in a more discomforting wonder, paralyzed. And though it be against my better judgment, against the lull to sleep that seems to grow heavier with each passing second, I decide upon learning my true fate.

I draw a breath, feeling the air rise weighted in my chest. It's not a painful pressure, but merely one that peaks my curiosity and offers the slightest glimmer of hope that I am still of this world. My fingers are next, clenching slowly against the ever so light tingling the movement brings. From my hands, I move downward with great consideration, testing each part with tender caution until finally I am tightening the muscles of my toes. Death and with it paralysis are out ruled and without truly thinking clearly, I attempt to sit up, a sudden rush of energy finding me with such rejoice in living.

"Easy," a voice says gruffly.

Joy drains away into the frost of recognition. My heart stops, a new sort of numbness blanketing my body. It is a simple word, one of unimportance, but whom it belongs to is what matters. My eyes open, the light that looms overhead causing the slightest discomfort as I squint forward, unsure if perhaps that this, all of this, has been nothing more than a dream. For there is no way, I am sure of it, that the voice I claim to myself that I've heard belongs to whom I wish it to.

For a moment, my vision is unfocused. Then, slowly, as the shapes of the room separate from the swirls of color my mind has created, I see him. Thin and gaunt, he sits just inches from me, his skin seemingly tinted with a yellow hue as if he is gravely ill with some affliction. He wears some sort of uniform, gray in color that reminds me of a thicker, slightly better quality of that of my prison attire. His eyes meet mine, exhaustion evident in the dark circles that form under them, and the breath hitches in my throat before I fully comprehend all that is happening.

"Haymitch?" The name escapes in a tone of disbelief.

"Hey, Princess," and his voice is as nonchalant as his greeting. "Welcome back."

There is just so much to process, so much to understand as I stare wordlessly at the man who appears to be as close as death as I surely must be. Am I dreaming? Is this some twisted realm my mind has created so that I can cope with all that has happened? Is Haymitch really here beside me now or is he a mere figment of my imagination? My eyes fall downward to my hands, noting the tiny tubes and wires that branch out from my wrists like roots. If this is truly my subconscious, then why is it so vividly unpleasant?

"You took a nasty fall," Haymitch shifts in his chair, sitting up a little straighter. "But it could've been much worse. A few cracked ribs, sprained ankle, your bruising is more concerning than anything else. But your recovery looks promising. Doctor says you should be out of the Critical Unit within a week's time, maybe two." He pauses, clearing his throat. "You in any pain? Looked like they gave you enough morphling but you can never trust damn medications."

I swallow hard, my throat far too dry for my liking. I look to Haymitch again and without having to even open my mouth, he seems to understand that I need a moment to think. His lips press together and he slouches a little in his seat; his eyes glancing momentarily at his lap. There's something in his expression, something quiet as if he is keeping something from me. And though thousands of questions start bursting through the fog of my mind, the less complex ones make it to my tongue first.

"Are you here?" I ask softly. "Really here? This isn't a dream, is it?"

"I'm here," he says quietly. "Late, but here. And," he nods towards my wrists. "If that isn't proof enough, when the medication starts wearing off in a few hours, that should prove it. Not maybe the way you'd want it too, but pain is always a good indicator of reality. Always is, always has."

I close my eyes for a moment, still struggling to grasp it all. "What happened?" Another heavy breath fills my lungs, this one aching slightly. "I mean, how did I get here-where is here? The explosion...Haymitch, I-"

"The attack had been in planning stages for years," he begins before I even have time to complete my statement. "It was only after Katniss had pulled the stunt she did in the arena, did we see our chance to activate it all. It seemed flawless, impenetrable. We all had put so much effort into it that we-and I am just as faulty as the others-let slip our guard in the slightest. And our errors were made known."

"Haymitch," I look at him, my expression surely holding confusion. "What are you talking about? Who is 'we'?"

"Rebels," he mumbles, his hands rubbing the sides of his face as if he nears sleep. "District thirteen," and he holds a finger up to silence me when I open my mouth to ask. "Not all is what the Capitol portrayed it to be, Princess. There are many secrets that even I have left to uncover." He shakes his head, "Anyway, I never thought that President Snow would ever be on to us. But somehow he knew, he always knew... And when he took you..." His eyes meet mine, "I thought that I had time. The way things were planned, I thought that I had time to get you out. To get everyone out. But I failed, we all did."

Perhaps I should be enraged. Confused. Upset. But I feel nothing, no anger, no sadness. Nothing. "Why didn't you tell me?" I whisper. "All of those months we spent together, why didn't you let me know?"

"I couldn't," he replies. "I knew if there was the slightest chance he would get to you that he would stop at nothing to get the secrets out. And once he knew you had nothing left to offer, he'd kill you. But if you knew nothing and he was unable to realize that, he'd keep you alive so long as he believed you held the answer. Any amount of torture can retrieve secrets from even the strongest man, Princess. But any torture is better than death and I had to risk that. You can hate me all you want, I wouldn't blame you, but I did what I thought was best at the time. And it seems to me like it worked."

"But the stylists. Portia-"

"They knew what they were getting into when they joined, Princess." Haymitch says quietly. "And sometimes I wonder if they were even more committed than I was. They were good people. A lot of this couldn't have happened without them. And I'm sorry I'll never get the chance to tell them that."

From his words, I know without actual confirmation, that neither Cinna nor dear, sweet Portia survived. The tears fall before I can stop them and I turn my head away slightly, trying my best to regain my composure. It's then that I feel something against my knee and out of the corner of my eye, I see Haymitch's hand resting on my leg.

"They were my friends." I manage to choke out. "My friends..."

"I know," is all Haymitch says. "I'm sorry, Princess. I really am."

"Who else," I whisper, assuming with great confidence that neither I nor Portia nor Peeta could possibly be the only ones within that prison. "Who else...who-"

"You, Peeta, Johanna, Annie, and Enobaria we managed to liberate from the detention center." Haymitch says solemnly. "As for other casualties, it's too soon to determine."

"Poor Peeta," I whisper, shaking my head. "Has he learned about Katniss yet?"

Haymitch's brow furrows in what appears to be confusion. "What about Katniss?" He questions, watching me intently.

"That she..." I begin, "That she-when the arena exploded, didn't she..."

"When Katniss caused the detonation that ultimately destroyed the arena, we managed to only grab her before the Capitol hovercrafts came in and took Peeta and the others I mentioned." Haymitch says, his expression cold. "She's alive, Princess. Very much so."

Relief washes over me at this knowledge. That in fact, despite what President Snow had said to me, Katniss was still with us. Without much conscious thought, I allow my hands to rest on my stomach, sinking against the cushions of the bed when realization hits me hard. My hands immediately press against my stomach, feeling for the first time the emptiness that now occupies the space. The still, unmoving motion that causes the blood to drain from my face.

"Haymitch," I can hear my heart pounding in my ears as I look to him wildly. "Haymitch, the baby-"

"When they found you, you weren't doing so well." His tone causes my stomach to twist, my heart to ache at what comes next. "Your blood pressure was dangerously low and the levels of stress your body was put through, they had to act fast." There's a look in his eyes that's undefinable and uncertainty festers in me like an incurable illness. "I was in the hovercraft when you were brought on. I didn't even get to take a close look at you when they pulled you into the operating room. But I watched from the window and," he shakes his head. "One second there was nothing and the next... She was just so tiny and loud." And a small sound escapes from between his lips that resembles a chuckle. "Damn was she loud. I'm sure the whole cabin heard her."

"...Her?'' I ask, my hands are trembling against the bed sheets. "It's...it's a girl?"

He nods, "They brought her out to me all bundled up and asked if I wanted to hold her. I'd never held a kid before-much less a baby-and I told them that. But they said that it was okay and that I wouldn't drop her. The next thing I know, she's laying there in my arms and I'm looking down at her and she's looking up...and there she was. All six pounds, seven ounces of her. Healthy. Fine. Just fine."

Everything that had halted previously restarts simultaneously. Emotion floods over me with just velocity I know I must look like a mess. I swallow hard, my breathing rather rapid as I look to Haymitch. "Can I-when," I correct myself. "When can I see her?"

Just as he opens his mouth to reply, the door to the room open. I flinch automatically, the reaction still phantom over me from when I was in prison. But instead of the stone face guards I'm so use to seeing, there is the kind face of a woman in grey attire. It's very similar to what Haymitch has on and I cannot help but wonder if it's some formal sort of uniform everyone is required to sport. Even so, it is far more friendly looking to the uniforms I have grown accustomed to over the months. And I know, before she even speaks, that she is good and that I am far from any danger.

"Lovely to see that you're awake, Ms. Trinket," she smiles, her left hand resting on something behind her. "I was just about to come in and check your vitals. How are you feeling?"

"Better than I have felt in a long time," and it's the truth.

She nods, holding the door propped with her elbow. "Well, if you're feeling well enough, I've brought a visitor with me. Mr. Abernathy had requested that she be moved to this room for the time being. The staff sees no problem with it. Can't say that this hospital was much made for babies. Our nursery is not exactly the most welcoming of sorts," she rambles. "I apologize for the wait, I was preoccupied with other patients-not that they take priority over a baby. But-"

"She was supposed to be here when you woke up," Haymitch says to me with a frown as he glances towards the door. The young woman seems to blush in embarrassment and perhaps if I was not so keen on seeing my baby, I would've scolded him. "But I guess now is better than never."

The woman says nothing as she wheels the strange cart over to my bedside. Haymitch leans forward slightly, his eyes fixed on the rectangular shaped box that sits on top of the buggy. I find myself eyeing it too, noticing for the first time the tiny shape that lays blurred behind the thick material. The nurse, seeming to have relaxed a little, smiles as she reaches inside. Then, gingerly, she lifts out a bundled mass and places it within my arms before I have a moment to speak. And when my eyes finally gaze upon what lies in the blankets, everything else falls away from my mind. Worries. Cares. Suddenly nothing else matters but the tiny figure cradled against me.

Never have I ever seen anything-or anyone for that matter-this small. She's no bigger than a loaf of bread and far more delicate at that. Her skin is rosy, more in her face than anywhere else. Tenderly, I find myself running the pad of my finger across her cheek, feeling softness that cannot be compared to any fine fur or fabric in the Capitol. My eyes wander over every inch of her. To the tiny wisps of dark brown hair that peeks through the bottom of her newborn cap. To the pouty lips I remember all too well from her sonogram images. And as I undo her blanket slightly to make sure that all ten fingers and ten toes are accounted for, her eyes open and I freeze, worried that she will cry. When she is silent, I am left in awe as I look into the large eyes that are a shade that is indistinguishable between blue and brown, and a lump begins to form in my throat.

"Hello," of all the things to say, it's the first to slip from my mouth. "Hi there."

It's an overwhelming feeling of love that I am left unable to describe. A connection that nothing, not even separation, can break. Though I believed previously to have found absolute beauty in material things, nothing compares to the perfection I now look upon. And she's mine. All mine. Something I made, that I carried for months within me not knowing how truly special she was. Truly special she is. My baby. My daughter. And I find myself making promises to always protect and be there for her. To love her and give her anything and everything she needs. And all the pain I've felt, all the heartbreak I have gone through, happiness finds me. Pure, undiluted joy that overpowers the sorrow and anger, all of it. Nothing else is important. Nothing else ever was but her.

"She's very alert for being so young," Haymitch speaks and I'm suddenly reminded that I am not alone in the room. "She'll need that." I look to him with what must be a ridiculous watery smile. However, he doesn't offer any snide remarks or any sarcastic comments about it but merely gazes on to the baby in my arms.

"She's perfect," I murmur, watching as her tiny eyelids close once again. "Absolutely, just...I cannot even say. There are no words."

"She's definitely something," Haymitch agrees quietly. "Little Half Pint."

"Haymitch," and though I'm attempting to scold him, it comes out very lovingly. "Don't call her that."

Someone clears their throat and I look in the direction of the sound only to see that the nurse has still to leave the room. Blood rushes to my cheeks in embarrassment and I offer her a smile which holds false sincerity. She does not seem to notice but merely grins brightly as she looks from the baby to me and then to Haymitch.

"Sorry to interrupt the moment," she says. "But I must inquire if you two have chosen a name? District Thirteen has a rather strict policy on keeping complete records of every and all occupants of the sector. I know it's so soon after, but it's rather important we get a name down. N-not to rush you or anything of that matter."

Though the mention of District Thirteen brings another whole herd of questions to mind, I know that it can wait. I look to Haymitch questioningly, suddenly feeling the burden of the very important decision that sits on both of our shoulders. "Have you any thoughts?" I ask quietly as not to disturb the slumbering infant in my arms.

"I'm assuming you've forgotten our conversation a few months back. No surprise, the medication had you acting pretty oddly." I open my mouth to ask what in Panem he's referring to, when he continues. "We had a...mutual agreement on the first name 'Olive' if that still stands well with you." He seems to lean forward, his eyes fixed on the baby's face. "Think it even fits her?"

I look down and study her features once again. It's a sweet name, simple, but good. Something that isn't easily made fun of nor unpleasantly common. And though, maybe months ago I might have found it not eccentric enough for my tastes, it seems to fit more perfectly than any other title I can think of. I look to Haymitch and nod.

"It's perfect."

He seems to give a half smile at my answer before speaking up again. "So, Olive Trinket Abernathy then?"

I'm about to agree when the name truly sinks into my head. Olive Trinket Abernathy. It is a nice name, no question at that, but it doesn't fit right. At least, the "Trinket" part of it. I shake my head, gnawing softly on my lower lip and I begin to ponder rather hard at the idea.

"No," I say firmly.

Haymitch's eyebrows raise in an almost comical way. "No?"

I shake my head again, "No, I just..." And then it dawns upon me. A name far more suited, a name that holds great meaning. "Portia."

Haymitch's brow now furrows, "Portia..." he repeats as if he has misheard me.

"Portia did many things for me, Haymitch." I say softly, looking down at the baby. "I owe her my life. All that time in the cell, she kept me alive. She stayed strong for me. Offered bravery that I did not have. The least I could do is show her thanks even if it's in no comparison to what she gave me."

He seems to mull it over in his mind for a moment. "Olive Portia Abernathy..." He mumbles, lips pressed into a thin line. "I like it."

My eyes fall to the sleeping infant in my arms. My baby. Haymitch's baby. _Our daughter_. Olive Portia Abernathy. A part of me had died while locked away in the prison. The old Effie Trinket. The famous escort of District Twelve. But today, today a new part of me formed. A new leaf had been turned over. I am a mother. Olive's mother. And whatever came next, whatever I am to face in here in Thirteen, it would all be worth it. It had to be. For her.

**I apologize to anyone who was hoping for a birth scene but I felt that I would not be able to write a scene like that well or do it any justice (also, I would feel really awkward even writing the words, "push, Effie"). Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Baby Olive is finally here! Woot! And that'll bring much more excitement in the upcoming chapters! Which brings me to my next topic. There are about seven or so chapters left in this story and I have begun to think about writing a sequel if anyone would be interested. Basically, my idea for it would be almost like a series of oneshots from year one of Olive's life until she was either eighteen or twenty one (so a story around eighteen or twenty one chapters without counting the epilogue in that number). So, if you'd guys be interested in a sequel to this story (and I have so much planned for it, if I do indeed right it) please let me know! Anyway, have some excitement planned for the next chapters including how Haymitch acts as a father so stay tuned! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated and seriously keeps me writing! I really love knowing what you guys thought of said chapter and what parts you liked and disliked! Thanks so much for reading! -Jen**


	34. A New Order

**You guys are so lovely! So very, very lovely! Thank you so much everdeer, Clara Meliza, sportygirl23, grumpirah, The One Who Got Sherlocked, NaomiBlue, katiee, SassMonster, PinkAngel23, All For Jesus, Anna, Savysnape7, smileypurpledragon1, wrathofsatan, homicidalhufflepuffs, Gdreams, lovingtheboywiththebread, Rippl, ItsAllInYourHeadMyDear, hsweeden, kelliejo19, Deadlyrose70, moonlight goose, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, reppad98, kitty4600, CloveLudwig99, The Hunger Games-My Life, BfHGsiriusluver, Ameliaxox, HogwartsDreamer113, Guest, the daily whatever, blueskyblues, DrGiggles, XmadlyinloveX, Nicole, EllRose, Guest, Elena-Cullen34, Morzan's Elvish Daughter, Guest, Alice, Beefpie, and Gabisamore for your incredible and just, all inspiring reviews! And a huge thanks to those who alerted and favorited this story as well! Seriously, you guys are the best! Now, without further ado, here is chapter thirty two! **

Chapter thirty two: A New Order

Whether it's from pure exhaustion or drug induced, sleep finds me at some point during the night. And though there are no nightmares, my slumber is restless. My dreams, hard to distinguish from reality, are filled with the cries of an infant that I am unable to reach through the darkness. It's only when I feel the ache of afflictions left unmedicated and muscles stiff from misuse do my eyes finally open to the dim light of the morning.

"Effie?"

The voice is far too feminine to be even remotely close to Haymitch's. At first, I believe that perhaps it's one of the nurses come to check up on me and the baby. Not really considering my current circumstances, I attempt to prop myself up further on my pillows using my elbows. Immediately, the pain shoots across my chest, a burning sensation left in its wake as it goes. I wince at the feeling, fingernails digging deep into the fabric of my bed sheets as I struggle to refrain from crying out. Whatever morphling I had previously in my system is long gone. Now, in its place, is the merciless rage of injuries unsoothed.

"Oh, Effie," and there is sympathy in the tone. "I am so, terribly sorry. I hadn't meant to startle you. That's the last thing you probably needed right now."

There's something oddly familiar about the voice. Something about the dialect that sits in the back of my mind waiting to be recalled. Slowly, as the pain begins to die down, I force my eyes to open, a long exhale slipping from my lips as I recollect myself. It's then, to my utter shock, that I see the figure whom was speaking previously. Her graying hair is pulled back into a tight bun. Her blue eyes soft, comforting as they look upon me in earnest. The dear, sweet woman from District Twelve whose meals I surely would have starved without. Hazelle Hawthorne.

"Hazelle?" I whisper, far too confused about her presence to even offer her a simple greeting.

She nods, lips forming a gentle smile as she makes her way closer to me. "I'm unsure how much Haymitch has shared with you about Thirteen, but we all-or those who are able to at least-have schedules to attend to. I was heading off to my daily laundry rounds in the clinic when I ran into Haymitch and he asked if I would mind keeping an eye on you while he attended President Coin's meeting... Oh, you probably have no idea who that even is. I—" She pauses, swallowing hard. "Oh Effie, I'm just glad you're alright."

Before I even have time to react, she's clasping my hand in both her own. She's trembling, her hands tightening around mine as she attempts to hide the fact that she is shaking.

"You had us all so worried," she continues. "Weeks, Effie. Six weeks."

Six weeks. Until now, I hadn't really thought about how long exactly I had been imprisoned. But a full month and a half. A piece of my life I would never be able to retrieve. A lump forms in my throat, memories flooding back that I do not wish to recall. Hazelle, seeming to realize my unhappiness, gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

"Haymitch told me if you woke up to tell you that he'd back as soon as he can," she says. "I can't possibly imagine that President Coin would keep him for too terribly long today. After all, she knows of you and the baby—"

"Hazelle," I say after finally regaining my voice. "Forgive me, I do not mean to be rude or interrupt you or…why are you here? I mean, in District Thirteen? Why not in…" But I stop suddenly when I notice the tears brimming in her eyes. "Hazelle," I begin again, fearful that I have spoken out of turn. "I'm sorry. If I've offended you, I didn't mean..."

"No, no," she smiles weakly, wiping underneath her eyes with her thumb. "There's no need to apologize. You've done nothing wrong. It's just…" she shakes her head, drawing in a deep breath. "Effie, there…Twelve is gone."

My heart skips a beat at her words. The blood in my body turns cold. Have I heard her right? Had she really said 'gone'? My mind begins to spin, creating possible meanings for that single word. Perhaps it is nothing more than a statement. A figure of speech. Perhaps Twelve has erupted into chaos and is 'gone' in that sense. Or maybe Twelve has been taken under military rule by the Capitol and is 'gone' from its old ways. No. No, it could not possibly have just disappeared. I look to Hazelle for answers, trying to find something-anything to say.

"I'm afraid I don't quite comprehend," is what comes out. "Gone?"

She nods, "When Katniss destroyed the arena unintentionally, President Snow was...livid would be putting it mildly," she pauses. "First it were the televisions. The Capitol immediately shut off the connection once they realize what was happening. Then the power went soon after. I can't say at the time I thought much of it. Maybe I was still in shock from what I saw happen on the screen. I'm not too sure..." Her hand squeezes mine now. "Gale was the first to hear them. The hovercrafts. He came running inside yelling at me to get the boys and Posy and run towards the fence. I didn't know at the time what was happening exactly, but Gale had never been one to 'cry wolf'. So I did as he told us to and..." her voice trails off. "We had just made it outside of town when the bombs began to fall."

As if on cue, a wail sounds from the strange, translucent cart beside my bed. Its timing is perfect for the unhappy ending to Hazelle's tale. However, momentarily I forget the sadness of Twelve's fall or the questions I have of who survived and who was not so lucky. Desperately, I look to where my baby lies in distress, finding that I am unable to bring my body to move towards her. It's a feeling of helplessness I've never experienced before and my stomach twists at the realization of it.

"If I may?"

In the time it has taken me to process my thoughts, Hazelle has move to the bassinet's side. Her eyes focus longingly at the tiny being fussing inside and her expression holds a look I can only describe as pure admiration. I nod in reply, mumbling something that I'm not even sure is a qualifiable response but seems to be enough for Hazelle. She moves with caution, gently lifting up the bundle from within and holding her tenderly against her chest.

"Oh, Effie," she coos, rocking Olive back and forth. "She is a doll. An absolute doll!"

Olive's cries taper off into quiet whimpers as Hazelle makes her way over to my side. The urge to ask for my baby burns deep within my chest, but some part of me knows that perhaps this is what Hazelle needs right now. So I bite my tongue.

"Her hair is so dark," she continues, smiling downward. "It'll probably fall out and come back blond. It's quite natural though. Nothing to be concerned about. Posy's hair was the opposite. Had the whitest curls I had ever seen and now, well, you've seen her." She adjusts the baby in her arms, cooing softly to her as she does. "She looks like Haymitch, you know. You can definitely see it in her expressions. Why, I bet if you had a baby picture of him and held it up to her, they'd look identical. Gale looked so much like Tobias, his father, as a baby, it was rather laughable."

I can't help but feel a pang of jealousy towards her words. It is quite silly really, to envy the fact that supposedly Olive looks more like Haymitch than me. But it is just Hazelle's opinion after all. And secretly, though I know it wrong, I hope to hear someone say differently later on.

"Here," and I'm pulled from my thoughts as Hazelle lowers Olive into my arms. "I've kept her from you long enough. I've had four babies and she is your first. You should enjoy as much time as you can with her infancy."

And though I had spent countless hours staring mindlessly at her yesterday, the feeling of awe has not lessened any when I gaze upon the wide, unfocused eyes of my daughter as she lays still in my arms. So small. So precious. I reach down and caress the tiny fingers of her hand with my index finger, only to have her take a hold of it within her grasp. Her tiny lips purse and a noise escapes that seems cross between a grunt and a whimper and I cannot help but freeze, worried that her wails will start once more.

"She's alright," Hazelle assures me, the light pressure from a squeeze sent to my shoulder where her hand now sits. "Babies tend to make little noises from time to time. It's nothing to get up in arms about."

"I'd never considered motherhood until after I learned I was pregnant," I murmur, unable to look away from Olive. "And even then, the idea seemed so unreal. It still feels so unreal."

"I know," Hazelle says quietly. "It's a feeling you never will be able to truly let go. The astonishment that you, out of everyone, have a child. Something you've created. That you raise. Even after nineteen years of raising children, I still wake up some mornings shocked I am a mother to three boys and a girl."

I say nothing in response to Hazelle as Olive's eyelids slowly droop before unconsciousness finally drifts over her once more. She looks so peaceful while she sleeps. Innocent. Unaware of the danger and violence around her. It is a naivety I wish I still had. The bubbly, unknowing as I stood up on stage for those several years calling out children for their death as if it were simply invitations to an exclusive tea party.

My stomach knots at the thought, at the memories of each Reaping. Of the sadness I never registered in the eyes of families torn apart. The fear in the faces of children taken from this world too early. I was foolish then. Twisted into the lies the Capitol told. But all I can imagine now is what if Olive was to be drawn from the bowl? To watch the child I had cared for be taken away without a second thought? Heartless. Sickening. The Capitol had not plucked the children off one by one. No, it had been my own hand which had done the deed. My voice which had called out the names. My guilt. My blame.

"Posy'll want to come see the baby once you've recovered," Hazelle says, shattering my train of thought once more. "That is, if it's alright with you." She laughs softly and I don't need to turn my head to know she's shaking hers. "She wanted to make you a card as soon as we learned of you being here in Thirteen. Unfortunately, paper is a rather sparse product here and I doubt someone would allow us a piece for the mere creation of a 'get well' card."

"And Posy is—all your children for that matter are fine?" I ask slowly.

"We were lucky," Hazelle replies, the happiness slipping from her tone. "But most were not."

"How many," I whisper. "How many were—"

"We don't know for sure," Hazelle finishes. "Hundreds, maybe thousands. The Seam had the most survivors, Gale was the reason for that," she pauses. "We wandered in the woods for three days. Hundreds of us. Sleeping on top of whatever supplies we managed to grab. Sharing what little food was brought. I still find it a miracle that the Capitol didn't send Hovercrafts over the forest to finish the rest of us off. Maybe they didn't know."

"And District Thirteen," I turn my head slightly, looking into Hazelle's now somber eyes. "How did you find it?"

"We didn't," she says. "They found us."

Olive makes another small noise in my arms and the conversation falls silent for a few moments. When there is no sign of consciousness, Hazelle moves from behind me to a nearby chair and sinks slowly down onto its surface. She looks exhausted now, crestfallen. And I say nothing, unsure if she's willing to say anymore.

"Haymitch was the first one I recognized upon entering Thirteen and if I hadn't known any better, I would have sworn he had experienced Twelve's bombing himself from how he looked," she states quietly. "It was then that it occurred to me that you weren't by his side. As you can imagine, my immediate thought was that you had…" her voice trails off. "I wish I had gone up to him. Asked him if he was alright. If _you _were alright, but I didn't." There is shame in her expression and I cannot help but pity her. "And I feel horrid about it."

"I'm sure he wasn't offended," I offer, trying to ease her guilt. "Haymitch doesn't really mind being ignored. Prefers it actually. He was probably grateful."

"It still was wrong of me not to say something," she says, looking at me. "Especially after I had learned that you were among those who had been captured." Hazelle inhales deeply, bringing her hand up to push a stray lock of hair that has slipped from her bun. "He was so worried, Effie. Refusing to sleep. Always was with Plutarch. Planning and plotting the prisoners' rescue from the Capitol. He wouldn't give up. Even when all else had failed, he kept going. Motivated by something many of us couldn't relate to without being in his position."

"Freedom?" I inquire.

"Love."

And suddenly I am back in the cell with Portia, dabbing at her wounds with the torn edge of a sleeve. Listening to her speak her finally words of Haymitch's feelings and the hope she has for us in the end. Love. It always came back to that word. That small, powerful word that means so much. That is responsible for actions undefined. Love.

"He's a stubborn man," I murmur, a feeling warming my heart that I have no words to describe. "A fool."

"Funny, I could have sworn he had spoken similarly about you as well before," she smiles.

"Perhaps we both need to work on our manners then," I say.

"Perhaps."

I look down at Olive as her tiny chest rises and falls with each breath. She really did resemble Haymitch; the way her pout could easily be compared to an adorable version of his scowl. She is his daughter. No question about it. And I can only hope that she has developed my personality and not the sour sarcasm from her paternal side. Not that such, secretly, I wouldn't find amusing in the long run.

My finger smooths down the fine tuffs of soft hair that cover her round head. Despite its obvious lack of length and volume, it's beautiful. Something that would never need a wig nor dye to color it a false shade. Perfection at its finest without the need of cosmetic interference. I lean forward, chest aching dully from the movement, and press my lips to the tender skin of her forehead.

"Oh! Oh my!"

The interjection is sharp and unexpected as Hazelle suddenly leaps from her chair. Unsure of what it happening, I look to her as she gazes down with the most intent at her forearm. There, through the dim light, I can see something neatly penned on the skin. Something, if I'm not mistaken, very much resembles an odd design of a itinerary.

"Hazelle, what is it? What's wrong?" I ask, eyeing her forearm with great curiosity. "What in Panem is that on your arm?"

"The daily schedule," she breathes, seeming slightly panicked. "My schedule." When the look of confusion of my face clues her in that I do not comprehend, she continues hastily. "Each morning we are to put our arm under this machine that places our tasks for the day on our forearms in temporary ink. From the looks of it, I was to be down on the lower deck doing inventory five minutes ago. They don't take kindly to inefficiency."

She bends down quickly and places a kiss on my cheek before doing the same to the baby. When merely moments before Hazelle was virtually calm and collected, she now flutters to and fro in a flustered mess readjusting her hair and straightening the same gray uniform everyone seems to sport. Mumbling some hurried goodbyes and promises to return soon, she rushes from the room almost as unexpectantly as she came. And for the first time in over twenty four hours, I am left alone with the baby.

Fear fills me as I realize my dilemma. Though I am the mother to this child, I know nothing about babies. How to change them. Care for them. I had not even opened the cover of a parenting book in all nine months of carrying Olive. Quickly, my eyes scan the bedside rails in hopes of some sort of call button when the tiny grunts of unhappiness sound from the bundle in my arms. My eyes fall to Olive who is, with certainty, very much awake now. Her features scrunch tightly together as her face turns a shade of maroon that even I would not desire to buy in clothing.

"Oh no," I murmur, awkwardly shifting her in my arms. Quickly, I look to the door hoping that there is some chance Hazelle will reappear. She does not. "Please don't cry. I'm afraid I don't know what's wrong."

Olive's wails become increasingly louder and yet, no one seems to bother to come in and see what's wrong. I attempt to rock her as I saw Hazelle do earlier, but the pain in my ribcage makes the mere movement nearly unbearable. Once more, I feel helpless as my baby cries in a distress I am unable to free her of.

"It's alright, Olive. There is really no need to cry," I say, hysteria beginning to leak into my own tone. "Please stop crying." But the sound grows even more earsplitting by the second.

And in what seems like a nightmare never to end, a sudden thought comes to mind. Cheeks burning with a ridiculous sense of embarrassment, I shift Olive in my arms so that her weight rests on one more than the other. With my now free hand, I carefully slip down my gown to reveal just enough of my chest that I need for what I'm about to attempt. Ignoring the ugly bruises that layer my skin in a crude pattern, I move the baby to my exposed flesh and hold her steady. Immediately, she latches on with surprising agility and her cries simmer down to soft grunting noises as she feeds. A triumph for me in new motherhood.

"There we go," I sooth, rubbing her back with the tips of my fingers. "You were just hungry. If only you could speak and have told me so, this would have been far easier."

My body relaxes its tense position as I settle back into the pillows of my bed, watching Olive quietly. She really is a truly extraordinary little creature. So much so, that I am almost too focused on her to notice the door as it swings open.

"Effie?"

My head snaps up almost instantaneously. There, standing in the doorway with a look of slight self embarrassment is none other than Haymitch himself. Though he has seen more of me in far less, something compels me to pull a sheet up just so much so that only a small portion of the top of Olive's head can be seen.

"Haymitch?" His name escapes in a tone of exasperation. "Where were…why didn't you knock?!"

His expression darkens as he avoids my question, stepping to the side. "Effie," and it's so strange to hear him call me something other than _princess_. "There's someone here who would like to see you," he says, his tone dripping with displeasure surely unhappy with whoever it is.

It's then, from out behind Haymitch, a figure steps forward. Her hair is grey, almost identical to the shade of her uniform as it falls sharply to her shoulders. Her heels click menacingly against the stone floor as she makes her way over to me, arm extended.

"Alma Coin," she says flatly. "You must be Ms. Effie Trinket."

Her eyes are even a paler shade to her ensemble as she stares at me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as a shiver runs through me. Something about this one does not sit with me right and I look to Haymitch, hopeful for answers. He, however, does not seem to notice my gaze as his own eyes fixate on the stranger, a detestment burning in them that I have only seen him give one other person. President Snow.

"It's a pleasure," I tell her, feeling mortified to be meeting her under such circumstances as nursing. "I would shake your hand, but I'm—"

"Yes, busy…" she nods, her eyes looking me up and down before meeting my own once more. "Quite." She inhales deeply, retracting her hand back to her side. "Anyway, I apologize in the delay of this greeting but there were others whom I had to see prior to this visit."

Haymitch shifts restlessly from where he stands off to the side as the woman clears her throat.

"Ms. Trinket," she begins. "As President, I would formally like to extend my salutations to you. Welcome to District Thirteen." Without any warning, she takes the seat that had been just minutes before Hazelle's. "Mostly I start by asking a few simple questions, but I believe the situation is much different with you. Considering your background and recent events, let's shorten this by starting with the question that's on both of our minds."

I can feel my heart pounding deep within my chest as she leans forward, a sudden, strange sense of uneasiness coming over me as a wry smile curls onto President Coin's lips.

"Ms. Trinket, how would you like to become a rebel?"

**This chapter turned out much longer than I had expected to have. Lots of Hazelle and Effie interaction because I really needed Effie to be caught up on events that happened during her imprisonment (and what Haymitch went through to save her). Some insight onto Effie's parenting skills which will further be addressed in upcoming chapters as well as Haymitch's parenting styles. Also, I was considering inserting Finnick and Annie's wedding into a chapter if it all possible to have a dance scene between Haymitch and Effie. Thoughts on that? (Maybe even a little kiss? Just thinking outloud here. No promises but input would be most appreciated). Oh yes, and some Coin. Haymitch doesn't like Coin and that will be explained in the next chapter due to something the rebel district leader has planned for Effie *insert dramatic noise*. Anyway, feedback is greatly loved and appreciated. I really do read every message and listen to what you say and try to incorporate suggestions into the storyline! But mostly, it does keep me writing knowing that you all enjoy the story! You really are the best readers any author would be lucky to have! Thanks so much for reading! -Jen**


	35. Requests of Discord

**An enormous thank you to All For Jesus, XmadlyinloveX, Minerva-Amantine, NaomiBlue, SassMonster, swimmadarling11, HogwartsDreamer113, katiee, Savysnape7, Clara Meliza, kelliejo19, Gdreams, pinkish-red hearts, The Hunger Games-My Life, Deadlyrose70, grumpirah, BfHGsiriusluver, reppad98, homicidalhufflepuffs, blueskyblues, sportygirl23, Susie98d, Right Hand Blue, MayFairy, CloveLudwig99, kitty4600, Cometas Por El Cielo, DrGiggles, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, ShortySC22, ErinAbernathy, NintenGirl2002, Balleka, Someone, Alice, BehindTheMask4319068, lovingtheboywiththebread, and Anarchy Girl for your incredible, always inspiring feedback comments for last chapter. Also, much gratitude to those who followed, alerted, favorited and did art as well! Ooh, quickly before I begin, one thing to clarify as I did receive a few questions on this-no, I have not read Divergent yet (but plan to). I simply chose the name "Tobias" off of my friend's theatre tee-shirt she decided to wear to class haha. Now, without further ado, here is the next chapter. **

Chapter thirty three: Requests of Discord

_"Ms. Trinket, how would you like to become a rebel?"_

The question is simple. A statement that even an imbecile has the brain capacity to comprehend. An inquiry that can easily be confirmed with a mere muttering of the words 'yes' or 'no'. Yet, no reply of that nature finds my tongue as I stare dumbfounded at the figure sitting but inches from me. For first impressions, this instance is surely doing me no justice as Coin's expression remains firm, unbinding to friendliness.

"Pardon me?" The words falter as they escape from my lips. "I'm not sure if I fully understand…"

"You are or—as I would so hope now—_were_ a citizen of the Capitol, were you not, Ms. Trinket?" Coin questions, hands folded in her lap. "You can understand my concerns of where your loyalty lies, can't you?"

It's as if my lack of a definite response has triggered some sort of sudden interrogational session. Coin sits up straighter in her chair, eyes locked on me as one might expect a predator to do to its prey. My blood runs cold; my heart pounding against my already bruised ribcage as I search desperately in the back of my mind for some statement that would be acceptable to whatever standards this woman now holds towards me. Had she been the reason Hazelle was so frantic to return to her duties? Suddenly I find myself feeling as if I'm trapped once more in the windowless room of the prison where the strong scent of rose still lingers like a phantom with me after all this time.

It's only when Olive makes a tiny noise against my chest that I'm pulled from the torrent of thoughts now swirl in my head. I shift her awkwardly, uncomfortable even more so than previously with the president's ever watchful gaze fixated on me as if nothing can break her from this trance. My mouth opens, some slur of nonsense slipping from it that even I as the speaker do not understand. I am in no state to deal with such a meeting as this, but my comfort seems to be the last of importance on Coin's mind as her chest rises with what I am sure is a breath of displeasure.

"Well, Ms. Trinket, am I being unreasonable or are my questions acceptable?" Her fingers lace tightly together as if she is restraining herself from going further. "I don't think they are that difficult to reply to."

"I—" I begin, feeling utterly ridiculous for my unexpected lose of impromptu speaking. "Yes, I am a citizen of the Capitol, but I…I don't feel I…"

"She should be the least of your worries, President Coin," a voice cuts in. To my surprise, Haymitch has come to the edge of my bed and now leans against the end rail with a look of undiluted annoyance. "I've known Effie for years," he continues, "and saw no danger in any of her actions. Yes, she is one for following laws whether they be from the Capitol or wherever but a spy of the Capitol? The woman can't be secretive if she tried."

Coin is silent for a moment. "So, I should be more concerned of what slips from her mouth accidentally, is that it then, Mr. Abernathy?"

Haymitch's jaw unmistakably clenches followed by an expression that I cannot distinguish from guilt or anger. "That's _not_ what I was getting at," he finally says, emphasis seemingly placed on each syllable. "I only meant was—"

"What you may have meant and what it came out, are two completely different things, Mr. Abernathy," Coin says nonchalantly. "Nevertheless, I thank you for bringing forth that possibility of information leakage to my mind. It will determine Ms. Trinket's part in all things if this interview goes as planned."

There were very few times that I have the ability to count on fingers of when Haymitch Abernathy's patience was truly tested. Normally, his outlook on most aspects seemed to be mild to moderate annoyance. But from the way his brow furrows and his stature tenses as his eyes meet President Coin's, I know now that this is not one of those times of slight perturbation. However, though Haymitch's cool seems near to being lost, there is no sign of aggression nor agitation in Coin's features as she turns to me once again seemingly oblivious to the tension that slowly rises in the room.

"I mean no disrespect to you in the slightest, Ms. Trinket," she says. "As the highest authoritative figure in this district, I merely am just concerned for the safety and wellbeing of my citizens. Think of it as a job requirement rather than a choice. I'm sure you are harmless. Really, I do. But without proper records or verification...no one can be absolutely sure now a days."

Cooperation. Whether I agree with her or not, I have to show that I am no threat. Submissiveness, though at times is not appropriate, is far more successful than arguing. The corners of my lips twitch in protest as I force myself to smile at Coin, whom does not share a similar gesture.

"No," I say. "It's very reasonable of you to be concerned about me due to my previous history." I don't need to look over at Haymitch to know he's glaring at me now. However I ignore this and continue, not bothering to ponder upon what curses he's spewing about me mentally. "I am willing to do anything you ask to prove my allegiance to you. I am, after all, grateful you saved me and my child."

Coin nods, seeming to consider this for a moment. "I believe you, Ms. Trinket," she says after a long minute of pause. "But I cannot say the same about others who reside here. They are a little less forgiving than I."

I nod in return, "I can understand their hesitation."

"So, you do see where I'm coming from?"

Another nod of affirmation.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

She stands from her seat, stepping mindfully around Haymitch's leg which he has casual stretched out for reasons, I'm sure, are other than comfort. Hands twisted behind her back in such a way it appears painful, she begins to pace in a straight line, heels clicking methodically against the floor.

"I'd like to revisit the rebel question if we could, Ms. Trinket," she says without her strides faltering. "I have an idea for an approach for you, but it may hold some challenges. Nothing too difficult, but all plans have slight disturbances in the flow of things."

I'm beginning to regret informing her of my willingness to comply to her demands as her pacing increases, her image giving the impression she is deep in thought. For the first time since he spoke out, I look to Haymitch. He, in turn, stares back at me with a look of disapproval and frustration. Perhaps it was I who had spoken out of turn instead of him to Coin.

"I'll have to speak to Plutarch and Fluvia firstly before anything is concrete, but I can see them being more than willing to do a segment on you. After all, the focus is to show other districts the means behind the rebellion. Your story would be all too perfect for that, especially with you being an ex Capitol citizen," says Coin.

"Segment? Story?"

I'm unable to mask the slight raise in my tone as confusion rushes over me about Coin's idea. What had she in mind and what part did Plutarch, the man whom I had known as merely the Gamemaker until a few moments ago, have in it? Out of the corner of my eye, I see Haymitch's expression has morphed from frustration to unspoken fury in a matter of seconds. What did he know that I did not?

"Propaganda is the most power form of weaponry during wartimes, Ms. Trinket," Coin answers. "It is the fuel that keeps the flames of rebellion burning. Not just for this particular war, but for centuries of revolutions prior to it." She stops pacing, her eyes now burning into mine. "Tell me, have you heard of the Revolutionary War or perhaps World War One or the second that followed it?"

I shake my head no. Since the Dark Ages, many historical books had been banned from such places as the Capitol. Our leaders believed them not to be important, or so that was the reason told to us. However now, after what I have been throw, I cannot help but wonder if the true reason was they feared what thoughts it would put in citizens' minds who were not as accepting of the government's regulations.

"Guns. Swords. Bombs. All can leave physical damage that can change a person's thoughts, Ms. Trinket. But the strongest of all is not how to get to someone bodily but mentally. Emotions, Ms. Trinket, they are the core to our success. From the Revolutionary War to now, you must have people captured emotionally to succeed universally. Am I making much sense?"

She has yet to answer my question directly. However, pointing that fact out to her could prove not to be in my favor. So simply, I nod in comprehension, hoping that by showing my understanding the real answer will be revealed to me. And the response I get is not one I was ever expecting…

"Ms, Trinket," her arms fold over her chest as looks to me. "What are your thoughts on you being televised across all of the districts, including this one, telling your story of how the Capitol cruelly captured and held you against your will or by any legal means, for six weeks?"

For the second time since the president's visit, I am left stunned by her words. Did she truly want me to relive the horrors I experienced? Tell all of the demise of Portia that I heartlessly try to forget deep in the back of my mind? I couldn't. I can't. Yet, there seems to be no other option than I must do so. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Haymitch mouthing something to me.

_Don't. _

My brow furrows slightly in curiosity and I tilt my head a little in an attempt to question his reasoning.

"Effie…" he says with some volume. "Don't."

Both he and Coin are staring at me now, an uncomfortable silence layering over the tension. Neither option I have-denial or acceptance-has a positive outcome. Either party will be upset with me no matter what I choose. However, feelings are no concern now. Safety is key. And though I know Haymitch must mean well with his demands, retaining goodwill with Coin is far more important. I draw a breath, chest aching as it rises in anticipation.

"Yes," I say after awhile. "Yes, I'll agree to an interview."

There's an unpleasant hiss from Haymitch as Coin clasps her hands together in a mannerism that resembles a nonchalant excitement. Not really desiring to look at either of the two parties, I turn my attention to Olive who seems to have fallen asleep mid-meal while my attention was drawn elsewhere.

"Marvelous," says Coin, referring to what I assume is my compliance to all of this. "I will go speak to Plutarch immediately after this. Once everything is set in stone, I'll allow you some details on how this will run." Her lips twitch into what appears to be the smallest of smiles. "You have made the right decision, Ms. Trinket. Something that will make your transition here far less stressful than it may have otherwise been."

Her eyes fall down to her wrist where a strange, clock-like device sits. And it's then I notice that unlike Hazelle had, there is no schedule etched into the skin of her forearm. As if feeling my watchfulness, Coin looks up abruptly, gaze now focused on the door rather than me.

"I should be going now," she mumbles, speaking seemingly more to herself than to Haymitch and me. "But, this visit proved more to my worthiness than I would have expected."

She gives a nod to me and what appears to be a sideway glance at Haymitch.

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you both soon enough if all goes as planned. Thank you for being unbelligerent about all of this, Ms. Trinket. You have proven my thoughts on you quite wrong."

She throws another sideways glance at Haymitch, their eyes meeting for a moment as if an unsaid conversation is telepathically happening between the two. Then she turns, walking briskly towards the door without commenting nor even making a noise regarding the fact Haymitch's expression still smolders with ferocity.

"Take care, Ms. Trinket," she says, hand resting on the doorknob. "May you recovery be smooth and uncomplicated."

The door has barely closed behind her when Haymitch turns to me, lips pressed tightly together in an expression I know all to well from the various things I used to do as an escort that caused him a great sense of annoyance.

"What the hell was that?" His finger jabs towards the exit Coin left from. "What were you thinking, Princess? Or, was this another empty headed moment of yours?"

My lips twitch automatically into a frown, "I don't see why you're so enraged right now, Haymitch! All I did was—"

"You don't owe her anything," he snaps. "You're not obligated to anyone here especially her. She isn't your friend, Effie. You don't need to try to appease her every whim and desire."

"I agreed to an interview," I say tersely. "You are making a big deal out of nothing."

"Nothing?" Haymitch growls. "Effie, the woman wants to exploit you and your story! Exploit Olive! She feels no sympathy towards you. Can't you damn well see she is just using you by implying you're a spy if you don't do this?"

"Haymitch," my voice is trembling now. "I was in a cell in the dark for almost two months! I was scared. I was alone. I don't want that to happen to me again. I don't care what she wants, I just don't want to be in that situation again! I don't want Olive in that situation!"

"So televising Olive as a means of propaganda is a better choice then? Exposing her as some sort playing piece in part of the rebellion is okay?"

"I don't even need to explain myself to you, Haymitch Abernathy!" I nearly shout. "It's my decision, my choice, and Olive is my daughter, I can—"

"Dammit, Effie, she's my kid too!"

Silence. Utter, unbroken quiet. I can feel the heat from my face drain away as Haymitch looks to me, his anger suddenly turning his expression into one of pure exhaustion. He leans against the bedpost, a hand pressed against his forehead as he seems to recollect himself.

"When you were taken, I did all in my power to fight to get you back. Despite what was allowed by District Thirteen," he says quietly. "They don't take kindly to Capitolians being admitted here. Hell, Katniss's prep team, Fulvia, and even Plutarch in some sense would be better off back at the Capitol. Nobody trusts them. Nobody likes them. Panem even knows what Coin'll decide happens to them once this damned rebellion is said and done. And I knew how big of a risk it was making sure you got here."

He wipes the sweat that now speckles his brow away.

"I didn't know what had happened to you. If you were even still alive. Or the baby for that matter. Peeta's forced interviews with Caesar offered no answers. I worked in the dark, unsure of if any of what I was doing would save you," he chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Damn district doesn't even have alcohol here, did you know that? Made it kind of hard to sleep at night, not that I needed to anyways…"

I watch as his chest rises as he inhales, his appearance becoming more gaunt looking with each passing moment as he dictates his tale.

"Plutarch helped though. Helped a lot actually. Probably couldn't have gotten it done when I did or maybe not at all without him," he says, looking to me. "I already told you about when we found you. Of Olive's birth. But I never got to apologize."

"Haymitch," I begin. "You don't—"

He holds up his hand stopping me from finishing. "I do," he says. "It's my fault that they took you. I should've been more careful and I wasn't. I was a fool, Effie, and I'll never forgive myself because of it."

When only moments before we were fighting, all of a sudden the anger has melted away into sincerity. An unexpected change that I don't understand but do not question at the same time. I watch Haymitch, unsure of if to speak or not.

"I don't like the idea of the interview," he finally says. "But I guess it really isn't my say. I just," he pauses. "I saw what happened to Katniss. To Finnick. Hell, anyone who they interviewed about this sort of thing and…you don't need the emotional effects that come with it, Effie. _I_ don't want you to go through that."

Without even thinking, I adjust Olive so that her weight is now on one arm and my other is free. I reach forward slightly, despite the pain throughout my body, and grasp Haymitch's calloused hand.

"I know," I say quietly. "I know. But I have to. I too have to apologize."

He looks to me, confused evident in his features. "What for?"

"The reapings," I say and almost automatically Haymitch exhales.

"Effie," he begins. "Those weren't your fault. You didn't force those kids into the arena, the Capitol did."

"I know," I repeat. "But I chose them."

"Effie…"

"I chose them, Haymitch, whether it was an accident or not, I did. And they all died with the exception of Katniss and Peeta. I never thought much of it. I mean, at the time it was painful but life went on. There were always more games, more children drawn to participate, and I had grown so accustomed to it that...that I ignored the real outcomes of what truly occurred. But now," and I look down at Olive, her tiny lips are pursed as she breathes softly in her sleep. "Now I'm mother and if Olive were to have been…"

Haymitch squeezes my hand but says nothing. Yet, I know he's thinking what I am. That he too has had nightmares of Olive being thrown into the games. We stay silent for a moment, fingers laced with one another's in an unspoken comfort.

"I have to do this," I say quietly. "For them. The late children and their families. Not for this rebellion or any other reason. But because I must. To make amends even though words will never return the children lost back to their families. It's…it's the right thing to do. The least I can do."

Haymitch stays silent even though I am done speaking. He watches Olive, his face holding an expression that is unrecognizable. I cannot help but wonder what is going through his mind right now. What his thoughts are after listening to my reasonings-which I have a feeling he may have found ridiculous-for my wanting to go through with the interview.

"You've changed," are the words that pull me from my thoughts.

I turn to meet his gaze, his hand still clasped around mine. His expression is still unreadable, but something tells me that now that he is far from sarcasm or any sort of teasing. That his words are genuine, whether they are negative or positive.

"I just see the truth now," I say softly. "I'm still me. I'm still Effie. But just Effie. Nothing more. Not an escort, not a citizen of thirteen. Nothing."

"Nah," Haymitch shakes his head. "You are someone, Effie. Someone to Olive. Someone to Peeta and Katniss. Someone to Twelve," he seems to hesitate, struggling to say whatever he's trying to. "Someone to me. Not a nobody but a somebody. The famous Effie Trinket who still seems to manage to be annoyingly bubbly even in the most pessimistic of situations."

I can feel the corners of my mouth twitch upward into a smile. Haymitch could be very endearing when he actually tried. I inhale deeply, settling back further into the pillows as another silence washes over our conversation. It had been so long. So terribly long since there had been even the briefest moment of intimacy or, whatever this indeed is, between us. So many questions flood to my mind. Many unsaid words tangled in the thoughts that flow. Yet, I say none of them, not wishing to spoil the moment. For another time, I promise myself. A later time when the fires of rebellion did not lick at our ankles.

"Thank you," I say instead. "For never giving up on finding me."

He shrugs, his fingers absentmindedly smoothing the indents of my knuckles. "You would've done the same for me."

I nod quietly, finding no need to speak after that. Instead, I enjoy what little peace there is left before it has a chance to dwindle off. Savoring the small moment that Haymitch and I share with the uncertainty of when another will arise. It's times like this I remember why I care for him so. Know that he cares for me. I look to him once more, our meeting briefly and yet, in the short amount of time, I can almost swear that I see him offer me a half smile. But, of all the uncertainties and questions, I know one thing for sure. For however long we spend like this, Haymitch never lets go of my hand.

**Some Hayffie fluff, hopefully it wasn't too cheesey because I'm trying to pull them together now without making it cliche and making sure they keep to their characters. I actually had a ball writing Coin, she's just twisted in her own unique way and I feel as if Haymitch might hate her just a little less than he does Snow. Maybe he isn't too big on authoritative figures. Anywho, feedback is greatly loved and appreciated. Seriously, it keeps me writing to the end. Support is the most cherished thing a writer can have and I am so blessed to have amazing readers like you guys! I think that maybe Finnick and Annie's wedding may be next chapter but again, no promises. Some Haymitch and Olive moments next chapter with some more Hayffie if my brain can make it work right! Thanks so much for reading! -Jen**


	36. Something Old, Something New (Part One)

**Tremendous thank you to XmadlyinloveX, Deadlyrose70, AlexMichele, Minerva-Amantine, ErinAbernathy, ShortySC22, NintenGirl2002, All For Jesus, SassMonster, HogwartsDreamer113, Savysnape7, The Hunger Games-My Life, Guest, Gdreams, emily, Right Hand Blue, lovingtheboywiththebread, reppad98, DrGiggles, Ameliaxox, MayFairy, Demigawdz of Asia, Guest, xxsyastachexx, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, sportygirl23, and homicidalhufflepuffs for the lovely feedback messages you left last chapter. And, of course, much gratitude to those who followed and favorited as well. Seriously, this story would not be being updated more often as it has been without all of your support. Ending on that note, here is the next chapter.**

Chapter thirty four: Something Old, Something New (Part One)

After much evaluation, the doctors determine that my recovery is well enough along that I no longer need to be under constant surveillance. So, ironically falling on my third week anniversary of my arrival here in District Thirteen, I am discharged from the clinic in the early hours of the morning with nothing more than an identification badge, a wheelchair, and of course, the baby.

It's an uneventful, quiet sort of farewell from the colorless hallways of the ward. Not so much as a hug nor even well wishes of good luck are offered as Haymitch wheels me away, Olive cradled in my arms. Yet, even though I am one for the utmost usage of manners, I take no offense to the lack of friendliness shown to my departure. In fact, as the elevator doors close behind us, blocking any final glances of my previous home for the last several days, a sense of relief washes over me that I am unable to describe. A sense that, even Haymitch much share mutually with me, is one of the highest hopes that there will be no returning to this section of Thirteen for the reminder of our stay-however long that will initially be.

"You're awfully quiet," Haymitch tells me after a few moments, interrupting the soft hum of the elevator as it begins to descend. "Not that I'm complaining or anything like that."

I look to Olive who lies stationed in the crook of my arm. She looks back to me, her eyes still quite large in comparison to the rest of her face and her hair considerably lighter to when she was first born. I cannot help but offer a small smile, dangling my index finger in front of her tiny hand until she takes a hold of it in her own grasp. My chest rises with a breath as I turn slightly towards Haymitch, my gaze meeting his own.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say," I reply, most of my attention still directed on the baby. "Then again, I'm not quite sure if I know what to say either."

Haymitch nods absentmindedly, his fingers drumming lightly on the handles of the wheelchair. No words are exchanged as we pass the fifth and then the fourth floor and its only when the lightened numbers on top of the elevator door pause on three does he open his mouth again.

"She's been quiet too," Haymitch says in reference to Olive. "Not cried once this morning. Not even when I woke her up to change her. Kid handles the early morning better than I can."

"Don't jinx it," I warn, unable to suppress the soft smile that now forms on my lips. "I'd rather not have her wailing all of the time. It's rather upsetting not knowing what is causing her distress when she is unable to communicate verbally. Perhaps I'll work with her on that soon."

"She's a baby, Princess. It's going to be much longer than "soon" before you can do that," Haymitch scoffs.

"You know what I mean," I say as I readjust Olive's position in my arms.

"Can't ever assume that with you."

I throw him a sideways glare as the elevator doors glide open to a thankfully empty hallway where no one could possible catch my rather unpleasant expression. Haymitch, either ignoring or not even taking note of my annoyance towards his comment, merely begins to push the wheelchair from the elevator to the floor without so much as a second of hesitation.

We go in silence down the long corridor, Olive taking to sucking on my finger for whatever reason she sees fit as we go. Babies are curious creatures and though, maybe months ago I would have found this finger sucking utterly repulsive, I cannot help but feel a sense of adoration towards this gesture now. Maybe it helps that it is my own daughter rather than the child of a stranger. Whatever the case may be, motherhood has definitely altered some of my previous preferences.

"Home, sweet home," Haymitch mutters, inadvertantly breaking the trance I am in. "Or, whatever the hell you want to call it anyways."

My gaze lifts from Olive to the dark, metal door that now sits in front of my path. It's simple, nothing that could possibly hold anything too exciting behind it. However, in curiosity, when I turn my head in either direction, I notice for the first time that several of these sorts of doors line the hallway in complete uniformity. Exact replicas of one another, almost apartment like. I look back to Haymitch, watching as he mutters to himself while digging through his pockets until his hand reemerges with what appears to be a keycard. He slides it through a thin slit near the doorknob and much like any other mechanical door I've come across, it clicks and Haymitch takes the knob and flicks it open.

It's a sight that I am neither expecting nor really that prepared for. Something that should have been given away to me by Haymitch's previous choice of statements and yet, was not. A bedroom. Or, most of one at least. A large bed with somewhat white and sort of pressed sheets, two pale wooden bedside tables each complete with a primitive looking lamp, and far off to the side what appears to be an old bassinet that somehow seems to stay up despite its legs looking riddled with age. But that's all. No kitchen. No living room. No other space. Just simply a bedroom.

"Tried to make it look as nice as I could," Haymitch says as he pushes me inside. "But damn place is sort of stingy with things if you haven't figured that out yet."

My left cheek burns slightly and I suddenly realize that I've been chewing on it absentmindedly. An old habit of mine, along with nail biting, that is my way of coping with difficult situations. For a few seconds, I say nothing, some part of me subconsciously hoping that this is not where I am expected to stay for however long. I inhale deeply, trying to formulate something that would not sound incredibly rude.

"Are you sure the crib will be safe for the baby?" I ask slowly, eyeing the ancient piece of furniture with distaste. "It looks…used."

"Of course it's used," Haymitch replies tersely. "Nothing here is brand new, Thirteen doesn't tend to waste things just because they've been used or," he pauses. "Reused. But they told me that it was still safe and I've tested it a few times myself."

I look to him in shock and he rolls his eyes.

"With a stack of newspapers, Princess, not with my body. I'm not brainless." He inhales deeply, rolling his shoulders. "Anyway, nothing's gonna happen to her if she sleeps in it." And before I have a moment to react, Haymitch gingerly lifts Olive from my arms and looks down at her. "Isn't that right, Half Pint?"

Olive merely moves her head a little to the side, her large eyes staring up at Haymitch without much focus. He chuckles softly, shifting her in his hold as he looks to me, an expression of smugness on his features.

"Even the kid isn't scared," he says. "You shouldn't worry either."

The corners of my lips twitch, a frown threatening to appear. "I have every right to be concerned about what my daughter—"

"Our," he corrects.

"_Our _daughter sleeps in," I say firmly. "You should as well. I find it rather concerning how relaxed you are about this. What if she falls through or it topples over or completely collapses in on her? Then what, Haymitch?"

"I told you I tested it," there's agitation in his voice now. "Several times."

"And what if this is the time it actually does break?" I continue. "How can you be so certain?"

"I'm not," Haymitch snaps. "What the hell do you want me to say, Effie? What will convince you or make you feel better or just shut up about this?"

"I don't know, Haymitch!" I cry out, throwing my hands up in the air. "I don't…I just don't know. Alright? Everything is just moving so fast, I can't even think straight. I'm exhausted and sore and this," I motion vigorously to the room. "Is not what I had in mind. None of this!"

Olive whimpers softly in Haymitch's arms as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. He looks to me, lips pursed slightly as he rocks her gently. I can feel my heart pounding against my chest, my hands trembling in my lap. Suddenly every fear, every worry that had not plagued me previously in the past three weeks had washed over me in one, full blown tidal wave. This is not due to an unacceptable crib. This is a panic attack.

"This isn't just about the crib, is it?" Haymitch asks quietly.

I shake my head, resting it in my hands. "No. No, it's not…" I lift my head a little and look at him. "It's everything."

His chest rises, a look of uncertainty forming on his features. "Like what?"

"Before I had schedules, orders, directions—I was in charge. And then I was pregnant and I could determine what I did and how I did and she was safe. Olive was fine. But now…now we're out of the hospital and Haymitch," tears stream relentlessly down my cheeks. "I don't know anything about babies or being a mother. Now you and I, we're alone in this. And—and this stupid crib," I swallow hard, struggling to recollect myself. "Haymitch, I can't do this. I can't. I know nothing. I'm unprepared. I'm not ready. I'm not in control!"

"Effie," Haymitch replies after a few moments. "Do you think anyone is ready to have a kid?"

"I…" I sniff, wiping ungraciously at my nose with the back of my hand. "How am I supposed to know the answer to that?"

"They aren't. No one ever is. Doesn't matter how old or young you are. How rich or poor you may be. Where you're from or what background you might have. None of that changes much. None of it reflects what type of parent you'll be. Or," he adds, "if you're ready or not."

I rub underneath my eyes, catching the last few stray tears that slip down my face. Hormones. Exhaustion. Stress. It had been so long since I had truly broken down in front of Haymitch like this. I take a deep breath and one more for safe measure. Slowly, my heart begins at beat its regular rhythm; the heat from the hysteria dying down with it. I blink, my eyelashes wet and heavy as I look to Haymitch more clearly now.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," I exhale. "I haven't felt the same since…"

"Since what happened," he finishes, knowing full well I mean my imprisonment. "I know the feeling. Sort of."

I nod, wringing my hands together slowly as I glance towards the back wall. Is it so wrong of me to wish that none of this had ever happened? That I was still clueless Effie, the escort of Twelve, without a care other than my job? I was happier then. Even if it were a false happy, I was still okay.

"It won't ever go away," Haymitch continues. "The memories, I mean. I'm being honest with you, Princess, this sort of thing will stick with you. I'm not going to sugarcoat it for your comfort. But I will say that it'll get better than it is now. With time. The nightmares will fade. The anxiety with it. And like most of us had to, you won't have to go through it alone."

Olive makes a small noise and Haymitch looks down at her. He offers a genuine smile, an expression nearly rare to him as he brushes the tips of his fingers down the side of her face. She blinks, wriggling just the slightest in his arms and he snorts, assumingly amused by this strange gesture.

"You have us. Olive and me," he says finally, lifting his gaze from the baby. "Maybe not the best form of therapy. We both come with our own unique burdens but no family is perfect. Not any that I have met anyways. But it's better than being alone. I understand that now."

There is not strain on my part to hide the smile that now crosses my expression at his words. We are dysfunctional, a word that is used very mildly when describing our relationship. But we are family. Something that has so much more meaning to me now than it did when I lived with my late mother. I merely nod in response to his words, struggling to find my own reply when there's a knock on the door.

"What?" Haymitch calls out, his voice lacking any enthusiasm. "This better be good. I requested today off weeks in advance. I have—"

"President Coin is calling an urgent meeting, sir," a voice I do not recognize replies. "She requests your presences at this time."

"Any meeting can wait," he retorts. "I don't hear any bombs or—"

"She requests that you come now, sir," the voice interrupts. "Or any necessary measure will be used to make sure you attend."

Haymitch curses vulgarly under his breath, his face resuming the expression I remember so well from Coin's first visit. Carefully, maneuvering Olive securely in one arm, he helps me up slowly with the other and makes sure that I'm safely on the bed before handing the baby to me.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, a look of sympathy quickly flashing across his face before it's replaced by one of annoyance. "I have to go. Coin's consequences for not abiding orders are never mild. Hasn't happened to me but Gale Hawthorne has seen a punishment or two since his arrival here." He straightens up, hair slightly askew against his untrimmed face. "I'll be back when I can. I'll see about getting a better crib for Olive if I find the right moment in a conversation to bring it up."

He leans forward, looking as if he is about to say something else but instead, reaches towards Olive and gently brushes the light wisps of her hair down with the pads of his fingers.

"See you later, Half Pint," he says to her. "Try not to give your mom any trouble when I'm not here to help you with it."

He looks to me, his lips forming a half smile as another knock sounds from the door. His eyes roll, mouth uttering the ungodly words I hope never to hear Olive repeat before he finally turns, leaving me alone with the baby as he exits the room with so much hurry I haven't the chance to wish him even the simplest of farewells.

I find myself staring aimlessly at the door from which Haymitch left from. Some small part of me hopes that there is a chance he will reappear at any given moment. However, that faint glimmer of optimism fades away as the seconds drag into minutes and the door stays shut tight. Olive makes one of her tiny noises from within my arms and as I look down at her, readying myself for if she cries, I realize that this is the first time that I am truly alone with her. No nurses monitoring me from far off rooms. No call buttons nor anything to alert anyone if there is a sign of trouble. Completely, visibly alone.

My gaze is unfocused as I watch the small infant nestled in my arms. She doesn't squirm much nor really move in the slightest, just merely looks up to me with an expression as indistinct as mine must be. I inhale deeply, fear twisting in my stomach at every possible thought of how something could go wrong during Haymitch's absence.

"Hopefully your father will be returning soon," I murmur, knowing full well that this gesture is utterly ridiculous as she cannot understand me. "Let's try to behave until then, yes?"

Her small fingers curl and uncurl against the fabric of her charcoal gray onesie, drool glossing her pouting lips. I take to shifting her lightly in my arms, making sure her head is properly supported while watching ever so vigilantly for any sign of distress. When there is none, my pulse begins to slow, relief covering the fear at a gradual pace.

"This was not what I had imagined for when you were born," I tell her quietly. "Then again, I'm not too sure what I had in mind but certainly a one roomed living space was not at the top of my list."

More drool bubbles from her mouth and surprisingly, I find myself unfazed by this. Without truly considering it, I take the edge of my sleeve and wipe away at it, ignoring the damp stain it leaves on my clothing's fabric. My eyes fall to her face, looking once more for any signs of distress but noting instead how it seems her eyelids droop down and her breathing slows from its usual rapid rate. Perhaps she will soon fall asleep. Something we both, I know, truly need.

"But I assume it's better than having nothing," I say softly. "And it's no commendable service on my part for that. Haymitch, your father, did most of this. The home, I mean. And I'm sure if there had been anything better, he would have gotten it—or tried at least."

It's comforting in thought at least, to speak to her even though she cannot respond or comprehend this conversation. She really is a good baby, not crying as frequently as most do during the day. Being somewhat decent during the night. Perhaps Haymitch and I are lucky. Or maybe it's just a phase and the worst is to come. Whatever the case, I take moments such as these not for granted, enjoying what peacefulness I can, while I can.

"He's rough around the edges, your father, but he means well." Her eyes are nearly closed by now but I continue to speak, under the impression that perhaps it's my talking that is lulling her unconscious. "He's a good man with a good heart who has just been through a lot. But he cares for us. You and I. Even if I do find his nickname for you highly inappropriate."

The urge for slumber begins to come over my own body now as if Olive's is contagious. I inhale deeply once more, watching bleary eyed as the baby breathes slowly, lips slightly ajar as she sleeps deeply.

"Maybe soon we'll be able to leave from this dreaded place. Away from all of these worries. These troubles. Then maybe we shall be allowed to return home. Go back to District Twelve." For what reason I'm continuing to speak, I'm unsure, but I do so nevertheless. "You'll like it there," I assure her. "There's this meadow that isn't too far from the house. Very pretty. Natural. Colors that not even the Capitol can recreate. Maybe we'll take you out there when you're older. If you promise to keep your clothes unstained, of course..."

With exhaustion, my mind grows hazy, my words becoming slurred with my thoughts. The conversation tapers off after that, unconsciousness becoming unsettled with me as I slip in and out from it, always waking to check on Olive. She continues to sleep seemingly more at ease than I. At some point, whether it is day or night—I'm uncertain—the room's door creaks open and a figure steps inside silently.

My eyes squint, focusing on the dark figure who stands much taller than I across the room. I know it must be Haymitch and yet, my mind is too wary to confirm such a conclusion on its own.

"Haymitch?" I mumbles, sitting up a little against the pillows.

"Yeah," the voice that replies sounds as tired as I feel. "It's me. Did I wake you?"

"It's alright," I say quietly. "My rest wasn't as peaceful as one might hope."

He grunts in response and through the darkness, I watch as he makes his way over to the bed, something cradled in his arms. When he sits down beside me, I cannot help but gaze curiously at what he holds, ever so mindful of the baby still asleep in my own hold.

"She been good?" Haymitch asks quietly, nodding towards Olive.

"She's slept most of the time you've been away," I inform him, not tearing my eyes from what he holds. "What do you have there?"

There's a soft rumpling of parchment as Haymitch shifts, moving the large object onto his lap as he retrieves something smaller from on top of it.

"Went to the clinic after Coin's meeting to see if they had any other cribs," he mumbles. "They refused to issue us another one without proper verifications that the one we had was unfit for usage. But," and he holds out an object towards me, no bigger than a playing card. "They gave me this."

Careful, as not to jostle Olive, I take what he holds out to me and peer down at it. Through what little light is in the room, I can make of the outline of a figure. Looking closer, to my surprise, I recognize the tiny body of Olive. Her hair as dark as it was when she was born. Her skin slightly blotched and wrinkled as most newborns seem to be soon after birth. The one and only picture I have seen of my daughter since her birth.

"Haymitch," I breathe. "What—"

"They said that District Thirteen requires an image for each citizen's information file. After they did Olive's, by some stroke of luck, an extra copy of her picture was made and when I went to check on the crib, they let me keep it." Haymitch informs me. "Thought you'd like it or something."

I hold the picture gently between the tips of my fingers, marveling at how much Olive seems to have grown since then. Something that I know I will treasure for the rest of my life. I look to Haymitch, my smile probably nearly invisible through the dark room.

"Thank you," I murmur. "It's beautiful."

"Don't thank me yet," Haymitch mutters, now seeming to direct his attention to the larger item, a box, on his lap. "This is also for you."

My eyes gaze at the box as Haymitch lifts the lid from it, tossing the top effortlessly onto the floor once it's removed. Rather roughly, he pulls out something that much resembles a dress from it's center, the material identifiably a dark shade even in this lighting. He holds it up towards me, a musky smell wafting through the air as he does so.

"And this is from President Coin," his voice is edged with distaste as he speaks. "Something that she expects you to wear tomorrow to Finnick Odair and Annie Cresta's wedding."

"A wedding?" I ask, my throat burning slightly from the dress's stench. "I do love weddings but I don't even know Finnick Odair much less Annie." Both whom had become victors in my early years as an escort. Both whom I had surprisingly not paid too much attention to at the time.

"It's to be filmed," Haymitch says quietly. "And you, me, and even the kid are expected to attend."

"For what reason?" I ask, still very shocked about this unexpected invitation. "Why is it so important that we attend? What interest are we?"

Haymitch is quiet for what feels like the longest moment in existence. Then, through the silence, I hear him draw a long, unmistakable breath. My heart automatically begins to pound, fear rising within me when only moments before, I had felt at ease.

"Coin called many of us today to inform us of what is to come in the next few weeks," he says slowly. "Tomorrow, Finnick and Annie's wedding will be a rather large part of it but not for the sake of their marriage."

"Then for what?" I venture, unsure if I even desire to know the reason.

"Final interviews," Haymitch replies, his voice holding a strange combination of exhaustion and anger. "Johanna Mason's. Katniss Everdeen's. Your's. Other less prominent individuals that Plutarch and Flavia seem fit to speak to," he pauses. "Tomorrow is the end in the beginning, Effie."

My heart is beating so fast within my chest, I cannot help but wonder if I have recracked my healing ribs.

"What are you talking about, Haymitch?" I whisper, my voice shaking. "I don't think I understand."

Haymitch is silent again, seemingly struggling with what he is about to say next. And even before he opens his mouth and begins to speak, some part of me knows that what he is about to utter will change everything any of us has ever known.

"Tomorrow evening," he says slowly. "After your interview airs, District Thirteen is declaring war on the Capitol of Panem."

My stomach twists. My body becomes numb and all of my senses seem to dull with it. I look to Haymitch, blinking through the darkness and he looks to me, my voice far gone from replying. So Coin was finally getting from me what she had wanted all along. A piece of propoganda. A last attempt to excite the population of Panem. And I, made a rebel against most of my own choices, would become more involved with all of this than I had ever expected. This truly is not just a war between the rebels in the Capitol. This is a battle between my old home and my new one with those I love.

This is my civil war.

**Another two part chapter, sorry about that guys. Lately I have been trying to update every two weeks and since both my laptop and home computer are down, I have been forced to write what little time I am given at the library. And since I have exams this week and the next, I wanted to make sure to give you guys something and not have you waiting forever. I promise, next chapter is the wedding and the interview and I'm super excited about what Effie will say (and what Johanna will say to Effie in the next chapter because-and I don't want to spoil anything-but I'm hoping it's as awesome as I'm picturing this all in my mind).**

**I really hope you enjoyed this chapter. I promise for some excitment soon and more Hayffie fluff and Hayffie parenting moments. Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated and seriously keeps me writing and eager to write despite having very little technology to do so. Also, I am debating having Effie speak to Peeta and Katniss next chapter so if you'd be interested in her seeing them for the first time in weeks, let me know because I cannot decide to save my life. Thanks so much guys! You truly are the best readers. -Jen**


	37. Something Old, Something New (Part Two)

**Sorry it's been awhile since I've updated. My life has been pretty hectic and my mindset just hasn't been in its proper writing mode due to it. Huge thanks to Deadlyrose70, Minerva-Amantine, Adessa101, Anarchy Girl, Gdreams, NintenGirl2002, SassMonster, ShortySC22, kelliejo19, All For Jesus, American Fantasy, katiee, Anna, DrGiggles, Savysnape7, MayFairy, The Hunger Games-My Life, blueskyblues, lovingtheboywiththebread, reppad98, Clara Meliza, HogwartsDreamer113, XmadlyinloveX, moonlight goose, grumpirah, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, EllRose, pinkish-red hearts, xxsyastachexx, Guest, FannieForever15, Guest, asha74, and Right Hand Blue for your, and I know I say this a lot but I mean it to the fullest extent, ever inspiring feedback left for the last chapter. This story would not be this far without all of you readers' fabulous support whether it be in favorites, reviews, and/or alerts. You are all so amazing! Now, with that being said, here is part two of the chapter! Hope you enjoy!**

Chapter thirty four: Something Old, Something New (Part Two)

Despite its form fitting rather well, the rough fabric of my dress still chafes relentlessly against my skin as Haymitch—Olive cradled in his arms—and I walk in silence down the long stretch of hallway to where this supposed wedding ceremony is to be held. Though I am far lighter than I have been in months, my body feels heavy, weighed down with exhaustion from the insomnia that plagued us both the previous night. After all, it's hard to find sleep when war is at one's fingertips.

Olive makes one of her various little noises, a sound that seems to be the only thing to pull me from the numbness that I feel. When I look to her, I see Haymitch absentmindedly readjusting her small frame in his arms, his eyes not even lowering to simply glance down at her. Suddenly, as if turned on by the flick of a switch, something in my chest begins to ache for him. Sympathy. Concern. A personal frustration that I cannot even begin to fathom of what thoughts must be going through his mind or how he must be feeling about what approaches so soon in our future. In everyone's future. And as we stop in front of a large set of wooden doors, I cannot help but turn to him worry.

"Haymitch," I pause for a second, unsure of what to honestly say. "I know you aren't much of someone who is for...expressing himself, but if you ever need someone to talk—"

"I'm fine," he says brusquely. "I've been through a lot worse things than sitting through a damn wedding. Hell, I might even consider this a vacation of sorts." He falls silent and then adds. "A very, very forced vacation."

"You know that wasn't what I was referring to." There is an urge within me to reach up and touch his arm, but the better half of my mind decides against it. "What you told me last night. About what—"

"We have hours before we have to worry about that," he says cutting me off yet again. "Best we not concern ourselves with it now. Ain't gonna do us much good or make any difference. In my opinion, Princess, we have been at war since this whole damn thing started. Don't see why they need to make an _official announcement _of what's been happening this whole God damn time."

For the first time, I notice that his hands are visibly shaking. Whether if it's from his alcohol withdraw or emotions— or perhaps maybe even a little of both—I am left uncertain. But he's suffering and my frustration only grows at my lack of ability and his unwillingness to allow me to comfort him.

"Why don't you let me take the baby?" I suggest quietly, anxious that his tremors might accidently cause him to lose grip of Olive. "In case she grows fussy when we're inside. I can just walk out with her and you can go…converse."

"They're not just going to let us waltz out, Princess," Haymitch mutters, his arms again shifting Olive subconsciously after my statement. "Once we go in there, we're in until the end. Even with the baby."

As I open my mouth to reply, there is a sharp click, a groan, and suddenly, far before I have even a moment to contemplate what is occurring, the doors open to a light so bright it's as if the sun itself has been placed within the confined space of the corridor. I find myself squinting, my vision struggling to adjust itself to the luminescence when I feel Haymitch nudge me softly with his shoulder.

"Come on," he murmurs, edging me towards the entrance. "I'm right beside you."

And though I have absolutely no reason to be fearful, I find comfort in his words as we step over the threshold and into the glare of the room. For a moment, everything is far too bright to even see where it is we are walking or what there might be for us to bump into. Then, slowly, as the lights seemingly dim, I find myself awestruck at the sight sitting before us.

It looks as if it is a picture from a story book. The walls, or whatever holds this structure together, are laced with vines of ivy and guarded by thick oak trees that look too realistic to be mere decorations. The floor is laden with various shades of orange, red, and yellow fallen leaves that, until my curiosity gets the best of me and I bend over to lift one up, I discover they are not real but merely painted in place with such precision and delicacy, anyone surely would be fooled.

"Oh," I breathe. "Oh how beautiful. Simply magnificent."

"Camera purposes," Haymitch mutters.

He then points with his elbow to the far side of the room and I squint into its direction. Though the light seems unable to reach the corner where he's motioning with such a magnitude as it does in the rest of the room, I see the foreboding gleam of cold metal and steel from the camera crew's equipment hidden behind the autumn foliage. Suddenly, the ensemble doesn't appear as beautiful anymore.

"Well, if it isn't the star of the show herself." Haymitch says suddenly, his volume far louder than it usually ever is. "Making appearances in events even when they have nothing to do with you. Typical. But then I guess it isn't really your fault, is it?"

I turn back, curious to see who it is he is referring to and it's then that my heart stops. There, standing only feet away from us, shadowed by what little darkness there is, is none other than Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire, herself.

"Katniss!" I splutter accidently, thousands of thoughts and feelings intertwining at once in my mind. "Oh, is it really you?!"

She steps out from her hiding place, the light hitting her all at once. Though she has obviously had her makeup done and her clothes fixed up properly, the faded dark circles underneath her eyes and the faint jagged marks on her arms and legs tell a different tale to her otherwise, formal appearance.

"Effie," she says tonelessly, lips forming a small smile. "I'm sorry I haven't been by to see you. I've been…" her eyes seem to lock on Haymitch's for a moment before falling back onto me. "Busy."

"Oh, never you mind that. Never you mind that at all." And I am walking briskly to her before I am conscious of doing so. My arms leave my side and I pull her into a proper hug, surprised by my own sudden affection. "How are you, dear? Why, where is Peeta?"

Her face seems to fall at my mentioning his name and I cannot help but feel a slight sense of mortification at my words because of it. Had something occurred between her and Peeta that Haymitch had yet to bother to share with me?

"He couldn't make the service," she says finally. "But he would have liked to have been here, I'm sure." And before I can inquire the reason for his absence, she quickly adds. "He made the cake though. Have you seen it?"

I shake my head in response. "No," I tell her, the muscles on the sides of my face beginning to ache from the absurd smiling I'm doing. "No, I have yet to. Actually, Haymitch and I just got here with the baby."

There is a spark that ignites in Katniss's eyes for a moment upon my mentioning of Olive. Though, some small part of me gathers that perhaps it isn't due to her love of babies but for the switch in conversational topics. My arms release her and she peers around my shoulder, eyes focused now on Haymitch and the baby rather than on me.

"You trust Haymitch to hold her?" It's an attempt at dry humor, something I'd expect her to use more with him than with me, but nevertheless I cannot help but smile even wider.

"He's rather natural at it actually," I say, motioning for Haymitch to come over. "Taking care of her, I mean. I was surprised, reasonably so, but he's good with her. At least with getting up when she cries at night."

Katniss nods thoughtfully as Haymitch pushes past the crowd that seems to have suddenly conformed in the center of the room. When he does finally manage to make us way over to us, Olive is fast asleep against his chest, something I hope she stays until after the ceremony is complete.

"She passed out the second you went over here," Haymitch nods down at her. "Don't know how long she'll stay this peaceful what with the noise gaining volume and such."

Until Haymitch had mentioned it, I hadn't noticed how loud the place had become. Groups and groups of people, many of whom I had never seen before, all spoke to one another in both hushed and projected voices as the once upon area began to fill rather quickly. A sense of uneasiness comes over me, perhaps brought on by the unexpected claustrophobia of the establishment, and I find myself rocking back and forth slightly on my heels in an attempt to occupy my mind elsewhere.

"So, how old is she now?"

It's Katniss's voice which pulls me from my thoughts and I look to see her staring down at Olive with great interest. My smile, which had unbeknownst to me faded, returns and I take a step closer to the baby.

"Three weeks?" I say questionably, looking to Haymitch as if it needed to be confirmed. He nods. "Three weeks."

Katniss hums in understanding. "She resembles you," she states quietly. "Both of you. More in the face than anything else." She looks up, her eyes landing on Haymitch and then me. "Cute kid."

Now I'm beaming uncontrollably, a sense of pride like none I've ever felt before springing forth from the depths of my chest in reaction to her comment. "Would you like to hold her?" I ask, excitement in my tone like a child whose just done something marvelous for its parents. "She's very light. It's like holding a pillow or..." and I stop, my cheeks burning in embarrassment at my odd comparison. "You won't hurt her."

Katniss merely shakes her head, her lips forming what must be an attempt at a smile but appears more of a grimace. "I think I better not," she says. "She looks so peaceful. I wouldn't want to disturb her or anything."

I open my mouth wanting to assure her that that would not be the case when suddenly a sound, the noise resembling that of a trumpet's blare, begins in a short noted, melodious tune that seems to bring complete and utter silence among the occupants of the room. Then, as if some unmentioned order has been given, everyone begins to file quietly into the dark mahogany pews that only recently must have been set up as I do not remember them from before.

Haymitch seems to stiffen slightly at the sound, his lips drawing into a thin line as he and Katniss both gaze warily in the direction the people are heading. The seats towards the front are filling rapidly but there is no hurry in either of their faces that suggests they desire to go and snag one for themselves.

"I had better go find Prim and my mother," Katniss says, breaking the few moments of silence that fell between us all. "We promised the Hawthornes we'd sit with them. Posy's in the choir. Youngest one of the children to be in it actually. She doesn't know too many words of the song but it's still something Hazelle has been looking forward to…"

Haymitch nods, turning his head slightly towards the crowd. "We'll be seeing you after the ceremony, I guess. At the reception."

There is no questioning in Haymitch's tone as he speaks but nevertheless Katniss nods as if he needs confirmation to his words. She looks at us both, the locks of her dark hair beginning to slip from the braid they are intertwined into, and bids us a simple goodbye. We then watch, both completely still, as she weaves through the mass of people still barreling in and disappears from our sight.

"Guess we'd better go find a place to sit down too," Haymitch says after awhile, his stature seeming to slouch slightly as if he wants nothing more than to just disappear. "Place is filling fast. Won't really be able to see much, I guess, but I ain't complaining."

Months ago, if I were invited to an event such as this, I would do everything in my power to make sure that I had the closest seat to the front. That the bride and groom could see me just as well as I could see them. That though the ceremony was not about me, I would make sure to find my way into the spotlight. Yet presently, the only desire I feel now is one of departure. To leave quickly and quietly before I am truly noticed. For though I am nearly physically recovered, mentally I am still in shambles. And without my extravagant clothes, my vibrant wigs, and the energy for false enthusiasm, I am but naked. A less than desirable version of myself.

"You okay?"

It's Haymitch's voice that pulls me from the fog of my thoughts. I turn my head, meeting his eyes briefly. There is no judgment in his gaze, only the faint glimmer of empathy he sometimes gives me. Although we've both suffered much differently, the understanding we have for one another is strong. I nod my head, offering a small smile in return to his words.

"I should be asking you that."

He snorts, shifting Olive absentmindedly in his arms. "Let's go find a seat."

It takes awhile making our way through the crowd— Haymitch muttering all the while about how absurd he finds Plutarch's oversized invitation list for the event—but eventually, we are able to locate two seats in the far back where the light thankfully doesn't shine too bright.

The ceremony itself is very simplistic despite the predictions I had about it due to the decorations and the vast audience. Though it is hard to see what exactly is occurring in the front, I can hear the projected voices of the children as they sing hymns I had not heard sung before while I lived in the Capitol. And I imagine Hawthornes sitting towards the front, watching little Posy with the utmost concentration and pride as for the first time in weeks, they have had this to look forward to.

At some point, the songs begin to soften and though I cannot clearly see through the thicket of people, from the gasps and murmurs, I can safely assume that Annie must be making her way down the aisle. I look over to Haymitch and he looks back to me with an expressionless face. Of all the people here, he surely must be the one wishing this to end more than anyone else. I reach over and rest my hand on his knee which much like his hands do when he is being too still or is nervous, begins to bounce. He exhales, slouching further in his seat as the crowd and the children fall completely silent as the initial service begins.

Though try as I may to pay attention, my exhaustion gets the better of me. It's only when the sound of erupting rounds of applause fills my ears do I come back to my senses. Abruptly, heat floods to my cheeks as realization comes over me. I had inadvertently fallen asleep during the wedding. And when I look over at Haymitch, he too has apparently drifted off, his head resting on my shoulder oblivious to the commotion around us.

"Haymitch," I whisper, shaking his leg lightly. "Haymitch, you must wake up."

I hear him groan, the muscles in his face seeming to strain as if resisting my command. Some part of me aches at forcing him to wake up knowing full well how he commonly lacks sleep. But yet, the greater part of my mind knows it's best and after firmly shaking his knee once more, I watch as his eyes slowly open and blink blearily at me.

"Fell asleep did I?" he mumbles groggily, not bothering to even snap at me for waking him. "The wedding over?"

"Yes," I say. "Just ended. I...I drifted off as well."

A low chuckle escapes from his lips, "Celebration not proper enough to keep your attention, Princess?"

"Oh you just hush," I try to chide, my lips struggling to suppress the smile that's forming. "You have no place to speak."

"Maybe. But it's more understandable when it's me dozing off during something important. Now you on the other hand..."

The urge to retort his comeback festers within me and as my mind begins to formulate some witty reply, my thoughts are shattered when the all too familiar voice booms overhead, silencing even the smallest of sounds. The tone is cheerful, both reasonably and yet, irrationally so, but when once it brought be great excitement, now it does nothing more than chill the blood in my very veins.

"Welcome guests," Plutarch says in a clear, booming voice that I am far more use to hearing him use during his pre-Hunger Games interviews. "We would like to thank you for your participation in today's ceremony. If everyone would please go in an orderly fashion to the reception room, refreshments and beverages will be served. Once more, we thank you for your appearance and corporation. We promise all of those who wish their identities to remain unknown during the filming will be done so to the best of our abilities. Have an excellent rest of your party."

There is the rustle of static, a click, and Plutarch's voice is gone. People begin to rise from their chairs, a sense of tension evident at least to me in the room as guests move swiftly from the room towards the set of double doors. And though this perhaps isn't the loudest the crowd has gotten during the duration of the event, it's now that Olive decides to awaken and from Haymitch's arms comes the unmistakable wail of displeasure that only she seems to manage to give.

"Coin must be in a hurry," Haymitch says, his voice returning to his usual monotone as he awkwardly shifts Olive in his arms, trying in his own unique attempt to comfort her. "Don't think Plutarch really planned to rush people like that. At least thought Finnick and Annie would have a few moments up at the alter but guess not."

All other feelings but dread drain from me as I gaze in the direction everyone now seems to be heading. My stomach churns, realization of what is approaching next choking me of any positive thoughts. Seeing Katniss. Bantering harmlessly with Haymitch. Those few precious moments of joy I've felt this day fade almost instantaneously as the knowledge of what I know will happen next sinks in.

"We'd better go," Haymitch says after a long moment. "They'll be expecting us. As much as I would like to just leave, there are some consequences that I am in no mindset to face."

My mouth has gone dry. My heart pounding against my ribcage as I stand slowly with Haymitch. I do not bother to respond to his words as we make our way towards the double doors. Through the people whom are merely strangers to me and yet, that I feel I know so well from what we've all, though different, struggled through. And as we come to the entrance, I freeze in the doorway, the same sense of unmentioned fear coming over me. A sense of solitude. Of fright. But as I nearly give in to the urge which tells me to flee, something stops me abruptly.

"I'm right beside you."

I turn my head meeting the gray eyes I have grown so accustomed to after all this time. To the man who used to repulse me so and now only quickens my pulse. I inhale deeply and lower my gaze noticing something being held out towards me. A hand. I peer up once more, seeing that it belongs to him, the baby resting comfortably in the crook of his other arm. And without thinking, something that I seem to be doing far less when I am around him, I take it, closing my fingers around his own.

Suddenly, I don't feel so alone anymore.

**So, I thought this wedding scene would be like four hundred words instead of four thousand so, after taking a poll on tumblr, I decided to make this it's own chapter and leave the interview and the wedding reception for the next chapter so I can add more emphasis on things such as the Hayffie dance I have been planning since day one and *maybe a kiss?*. So, I apologize for those looking forward for that in this chapter, but I think it'll be more worth it being it's own chapter. **

**Hopefully everyone was pretty much in character even though I am trying to bring Effie and Haymitch closer together. For those wondering how many chapters are left in this story, once I get past the wedding stuff (which will be by next chapter if my brain works right) not too many. I'm still considering to do a sequel if the desire for one his high enough. But I will let you know my final decision for that by the epilogue (which I am so excited for and have half of it written out already-not excited because OPLaBB will be complete, but the events that take place in the epilogue I'm super psyched about)**

**Anyway, feedback is greatly loved and appreciated. It's such a wonderful feeling knowing what you guys thought of a chapter and very motivating as well. Hope the start of summer has been kind to you all. Until the next chapter which hopefully will be approaching soon! Thanks so much!-Jen (also, there is a trailer to this fanfiction on my tumblr account but I will post a link to it on my fanfiction profile page once the final trailer is complete and uploaded to youtube rather than just the tumblr site).**


	38. Far Off Anecdotes

**PLEASE SEE BOTTOM AUTHOR'S NOTE FOR SOME IMPORTANT INFORMATION! I'll make this quick, but as usual, I just wanted to say a huge thank you to those who left their feedback for the last chapter. Catching Fireflies, XmadlyinloveX, SassMonster, Punzie the Platypus, confusednikki24-7, Clara Meliza, Anarchy Girl, moonlight goose, All For Jesus, Deadlyrose70, HogwartsDreamer113, homicidalhufflepuffs, katee, Abby and Live Snigglebottom, ShortySC22, cindella204, Right Hand Blue, reppad98, True Love's Kis5, Swifty22, My Beautiful Ending, asha74, CloveLudwig99, DrGiggles, Guest, FannieForever15, JulialovesLovato, Monica, nevisveli, Tyra, and Ameliaxox, thank you all so much for the lovely comments you left for the last chapter. They were inspiring and seriously gave me that much needed push to sit down and write. And a warm thanks to those who favorite, alert, do art (special thanks to omnomnomno247 for the beautiful picture she created. Make sure to check it and all of the other amazing pieces out on my profile page), and read this story in general. You truly are the most amazing readers any author would be lucky to have! Now, without further ado, here is the next chapter!**

Chapter thirty five: Far Off Anecdotes

The moment we step from the doors of the ceremony and into the reception hall, the feeling of dread finds me once more. This place, far less modest than the beautiful scenery of the previous room that had done its part to hide the cameras so well, now only focuses each and every lens from the metal objects on every aspect of the room, ignoring nothing and allowing nothing to be ignored. It's as if any small movement or motion one makes, will be captured by these lifeless beasts, hungry for footage and never satisfied. And though I am fully and well clothed, I cannot help but feel absolutely naked here. My privacy shown to thousands of people without the slightest consent from me. And for the first time, I can only vaguely imagine how it must have been like for the children in the arena with such video-taking at every angle of their being every moment until their last.

"There are so many people here," I breathe, finding myself being pressed closer to Haymitch as people shove their way through the claustrophobic environment and into whatever empty space is invisible to me. "I just...it didn't even seem this large back in the ceremonial hall. For the love of Panem, do they really expect us all to fit comfortably in here?"

An exhale sounds from beside me and I can only imagine it most belong to Haymitch. "Our comfort is far from being on their priority list, Princess," he mumbles, hand clasping tighter around my own as he guides us through the clusters of guests. "Right now, our enjoyment is the last thing on their minds."

As we weave our way through the crowd, I find myself glancing at the various shades of neutrally colored outfits that stand like great stones among the area of the room in the hopes that I will spy a familiar face like that belonging to Katniss or perhaps even Hazelle. Yet, no such luck finds me and soon, Haymitch and I are standing away from everyone in a far off corner separated only by the large, white refreshments table that even with its offerings of toast and some form a stew, holds no mood lightening appeal to me.

"If you're hungry, I suggest you get your fill here," Haymitch mumbles. "Don't seem like they're rationing the food as they normally would. Doesn't look half bad in all honesty either."

I shake my head in response. "I'm not very much hungry at the moment but thank you for the suggestion nevertheless." For a moment, I fall silent, craning my neck in an attempt to once more hopefully catch a glimpse at Katniss. When there is no sign, I relax my position and turn my attention back to Haymitch. "But if you are, hungry I mean, I could take the baby? You haven't had anything to eat today to begin with. Maybe you should have something now."

As I had, he shakes his head 'no' in response, muttering some nonsense that he doesn't feel the need to eat as much as he used to. He had never been one for food for as long as I had known him, but recently, his lack in gaining any weight whatsoever had begun to cause worry within me. And the thought of this, among the other anxieties that plague my mind at this moment, stirs within me a sense of annoyance towards him. After all, Haymitch and his ungodly health methods, or lack there of, seem to be the only thing I could possibly hold control over.

"Haymitch," my tone comes out more strained than I would have preferred it to. "I cannot fathom how you can still feel no need to eat when you haven't had a bite of anything all day. You do realize this is not good for your well being, yes?"

He looks to me with eyebrows raised in an emotion I am too tired to identify. Perhaps he senses my edginess for he seems to open his mouth and quickly shut it just before something vulgar or sarcastic, I'm sure, escapes from his lips. Then, what is far more surprising to me, I watch as he reaches with the hand that once held mine and swipes one of the thinner slices of toast from the many plates that laden the table and puts it to his mouth. I say nothing as he takes a small bite seeming to almost struggle with swallowing it before shoving the rest of the bread carelessly into his pocket most likely saving it either for later or until he found a better use for it. Like most District Twelve citizens I had noticed, even Haymitch tended not to waste food.

"Happy?" he grumbles, nostrils flaring slightly as he exhales. "I don't see why my eating habits concern you so damn much. Not like I'm starving."

I decide it better not to feed into an argument with him right now. After all, whether he accepts it for himself or not, I know he is just as anxious as I am. So instead of choosing to speak we fall silent, watching as the crowds in the room break off to the sides to allow couples choosing to dance have the floor.

My eyes follow the dancers, gazing at each pair as they sway softly to music that is far from anything that ever played in my previous home. A low, melodious tone that brings old thoughts of District Twelve recollections to me. To the windy evenings just as the weather calms from a storm. To the sunset that no artist in the Capitol would ever be able to replicate. And to the nights early on in my pregnancy, when my homesickness for the Capitol was so strong, I would stand by the window and gaze out at the moon listening to the crickets and feeling Olive flutter from within me. Memories that I have not really cherished until now.

It's then, while observing the dancers, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of a dress so ravishing that all of my attention is drawn away from the peacefulness of the song, and to the vibrant green fabric that falls effortlessly into place on the figure belonging to Annie Cresta. The dress, a favorite of mine from Katniss's Victory Tour, swishes gracefully around the pale skin of Annie's ankles as she and Finnick waltz to and fro in the center of the room seemingly oblivious to all around them. She smiles at him and he at her, their eyes never leaving one another as they step in tune to the song, creating an image that would be desired by any Capitol wedding vendor's promotional advertisements.

"Oh, Haymitch," I whisper. "Look at Annie and Finnick. Aren't they just so lovely up there? Annie looks so beautiful and they both...they both look just so happy. It's as if they don't even notice the cameras and all of the other horrid things that are intruding on their moment."

Haymitch shifts Olive in his arms, her wide eyes slightly crinkled in sleepiness from having shortly awakened from her nap. "They deserve it, the happiness," he comments, tucking the collar of Olive's one piece more under her chin as it rides up. "They deserve a lot considering all they've been through. I don't think I need to go into detail on that."

He is right in that. That I needed no jogging of my memory to recall both Annie's and Finnick's victories and the scars that at least were mentally present in Annie. Nevertheless, by merely glancing up at them now, plainly seeing how joyous they both were as they held each other in a loving embrace, you would never have guessed how much they both have suffered.

"Ms. Trinket! Mr. Abernathy!"

Suddenly, someone rushes into my legs. I stumble back slightly, the force from the small figure nearly enough to topple me over. Startled, I gaze down at the mess of frizzy brown hair pulled back into a loose bun as the child buries her face into the fabric of my dress, hands clinging to its hem. And then, confusion is quickly replaced by excitement at the realization of who this tiny person is. Posy Hawthorne.

"Posy," I exclaim, bending down so I am at eye level with the girl. "Oh, Posy, it's a pleasure to see you again, darling! Oh, how I have missed you!" I pull her into an embrace, the stray strains of her hair tickling underneath my nose.

"Ms. Trinket," she repeats, arms now tightening around my neck. "Did you hear me sing today? Did you? I practiced really hard! Gale and Mama said I was the best! Did you think so? I think so."

"Of course I did, darling. Haymitch and I both thought you sang beautifully." I tell her, offering her the first genuine smile I have given today.

She squeals, hugging me even tighter as the sound of hurried footsteps approach behind us. I turn my head slightly, half expecting it to be President Coin or another person whose agenda for me is not at all up to my expectations, but instead, I am greeted with the much worn out expression belonging to Hazelle Hawthorne whose hair, much like her daughter's, seems to be falling out of its styling.

"Posy," she scolds. "What did I tell you about running off? You had me so worried." And then to Haymitch and me she smiles weakly. "Just wait until your little one finds out how to use her legs. You turn around one minute and the next..." she shakes her head, her chest rising as she struggles to catch her breath.

Posy takes a step back from me, her head hanging down in remorse. "I'm sorry, Mama." She apologizes, taking at step closer to Hazelle before hugging her own legs as she had done mine. "I just saw Ms. Trinket and Mr. Abernathy and I wanted to say hi."

"It's okay, Posy," Hazelle says, patting the small girl's head. "Just you ask next time, alright?" Posy nods and Hazelle takes another breath, this one less ragged than the first. "Did you see Ms. Trinket's and Mr. Abernathy's new baby?"

Her eyes lit up as if someone had sparked a fire within the gray orbs. "No," she says excitedly, her head now turning to Haymitch, noticing the infant in his arms for the first time. "No! A baby?"

Haymitch, not even having to be told, bends down a little to let Posy have a better look at Olive. She peers into his arms, cooing softly in the strange language all small children assume babies speak in. Olive just looks back at her, eyes wide and lips wet with drool. She makes a gurgling sound, the kind that could either mean she's about to cry or is just being vocal, and Posy covers her mouth and giggles.

"She's funny," Posy says. "And small."

"Yep," Haymitch agrees in his usual tone. "She's only a couple of weeks old."

"A baby, baby." Posy agrees, peering over Haymitch's arms again. "Can I hold her?"

Hazelle thankfully steps in before Haymitch and I even have a moment to consider this. "Perhaps when she's a little older, dear," Hazelle assures her. "She's just a little baby right now. I think it's best she stays with a grownup until she's a little bigger."

Posy pouts but offers no other form of retaliation to Hazelle's words. Instead, she looks towards the dance floor, her attention captured as mine had been by the array of couples spinning in the center. I too cannot help but look again, a sudden burning desire to be out there with them forming in my chest. It's a strange urge, one that I cannot properly justify, but nevertheless grows as I gaze at all of the couples, their concerns and fears, whatever they may be, lost temporary on the floor.

"I really don't mind, you know," Hazelle says from behind me. "You look as if you could both use a break if it only be for a little while."

"I don't want to trouble you," I hear Haymitch say to her. "Not every chance you get to go to a party."

"It wasn't my choosing anyhow," Hazelle replies. "Nor anyone's for that matter. So, at least allow me to make your experience more enjoyable. You both deserve it."

"Yeah," Haymitch mumbles. "Alright, if you're sure."

"I am."

Finally, I am able to pull myself from the dancers and turn around only to see Haymitch carefully setting Olive in Hazelle's awaiting arms. He mumbles something about being careful to watch her head and Hazelle gives him this look that is seemingly cross between amusement and annoyance. He straightens, glancing at Olive for a few moments before looking to me.

"I really don't know much about dancing," he tells me. "So no complaining if I step on your toes or something."

At first, I am highly confused by his words. It's only after I happen to glance down and notice his hand is extended towards me do I realize that this is another one of Haymitch's awkward attempts at compassion. He's asking me for a dance. Or, asking me as anyone of his attitude well could.

"I..." I look to Hazelle and she nods. "I suppose one dance couldn't hurt anyone."

I take his hand, my fingers curling around his own as we walk out onto the floor. It's an uncomfortable moment at first, standing in the absolute center of the room looking as if we haven't a clue what we're doing, but then Haymitch, ever so carefully as if he's afraid of hurting me, places his hands on my hips and my arms allow themselves to find the nature resting spot behind his neck. And then we're swaying. A slow and cautious rocking the music as if we're teenagers trying to find the right moves for the first time.

"We must look silly," I mumble, a small smile creeping onto my lips. "Everyone else seems to know how to dance so well."

"Doesn't matter what they think," Haymitch mutters. "Only what we do."

"Perhaps you're right," I say, letting my head rest against his chest. "Doesn't matter."

We continue to sway, the music lulling by now. I almost forget about the cameras watching us or the fact that soon, everything will change and the outcome of what will result is unclear. Yet, none of that matters right now. Right at this moment. Any of it. And I allow my eyes to close, inhaling Haymitch's sent that I am slowly finding less repugnant.

"Tired?" I hear him ask.

"No," I murmur. "No, just enjoying the moment is all."

He grunts in reply, his arms sliding around my waist now. I exhale, opening my eyes and looking up into his own. He stares back at me with an expression that holds no judgment or hardness that I know so well. Then, without any warning whatsoever, he leans forward and I up, our lips meeting part way.

The kiss is slow, sentimental. Nothing like how it was on Katniss's wedding dress photo-shoot or how we kissed sloppy and uncoordinated when we made love those many months back. It's cautious, steady, and holds so much more compassion than any other kiss we've shared. And I melt, my stomach twisting in a way that holds no fear but love and lust and happiness. All of the good feelings that come from affection like this. I forget everything else. The whole reason we are both here in the first place. And I let myself fall deeper and deeper until my protective walls, or whatever they be considered, break, and I finally let Haymitch in completely.

"Excuse me."

The voice is patient and though it is rude to do so, we ignore it. I have never been a supporter of public affection whether it be with me or seeing a stranger do so, but yet, I am not in the mood to care or be embarrassed by my actions now. However, when the voice clears its throat, Haymitch pulls back slightly, evidently annoyed by the interruption possibly more than I am.

"What?" He nearly snarls, arms still around my waist as we turn to look at our spectator.

"You are Ms. Effie Trinket, correct?" The man is dressed in a uniform I recognize as standard guard wear here in District Thirteen. "President Coin requests your presence in the conference room immediately. The interviews are starting shortly."

"I suppose we have no say in this," Haymitch mutters.

"Affirmative, sir."

Haymitch mutters something vulgar under his breath before turning his attention back to me. "Come on," and his eyes are much softer than they have been in a long time. "Let's grab the baby and go. Better to get this over with sooner than later."

The guard doesn't leave our side as we weave our way through the crowds and back over to Hazelle and Posy. As I take Olive back from her, the older woman gives me a look of sympathy as her eyes fall from the guard to me. I thank her for her generosity in watching my daughter, trying my best not to show her the fear that has been bubbling in my chest as we take a step back, led away by the District Thirteen's model of a Peacekeeper and to where I will be one of the many sparks to light the final torch of battle.

The music grows fainter and the lights dim the further we walk away from the reception. I stay close to Haymitch's side, Olive cradled to my breast as we approach what looks like a large glass room at the end of the long corridor. From here, I can see exactly what is and what will occur on the inside. A single spotlight hangs directly from the center of the ceiling and shines its beam right on what appears to be a simple wooden stool. Someone is perched on top of it seemingly speaking to no one. However, taking a closer look, I can vaguely make out the outline of cameras hidden by the shadows where the light does not touch. My stomach drops, blood running cold.

"I need to use the restroom," I mumble, somehow managing to get Olive safely into Haymitch's arms despite my own shaking violently. "I just...I just need to go first before, before I have to go in there."

"Ma'am," the guard begins when Haymitch steps in between us.

"You best let her go," he says coldly. "I don't think Coin would take it kindly if she wet herself in there."

Though I know Haymitch said what he did for my own good, I still am slightly appalled by his word choice. Nevertheless, it gets the guard to agree and I slip quickly from my group and head towards the direction the guard says the restrooms are in. I hurry down the hallway, feeling the urge to vomit aching in my throat as I push open the doors and am made to stop suddenly in my tracks.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Miss Princess of the Capitol herself."

The figure smirks at me, her pale face still visibly bruised and battered despite the attempts I can see to cover it up with makeup. She leans against the wall, her short hair beginning to grow long in some places and staying bare in others. She looks to me, dark eyes narrow as seemingly studies me.

"Johanna," I say, remembering her name very easily as hers was one of the first games I remember clearly from my pre-escorting days other than Haymitch's. "What are you doing down here?"

"I should be asking you the same," she says taking a step towards me. "Heard you had a baby. Also heard the Capitol arrested you too." She wipes her nose with the corner of her sleeve. "Wouldn't have believed it unless I saw you on the ship they rescued us all in. Left you pretty intact the Capitol did. You're lucky."

"I...I suppose I am," I nod, wishing now that I had stayed with Haymitch and the guard. "I'm glad to see you're looking...recovered."

She laughs coldly, "Hardly. Appearances can lie, I guess, but I don't need to be explaining that to you now, do I? Barely recognized you without all of that crap on your face." Johanna shakes her head, chuckling at something I don't quite hear or understand. "Anyway, I'm going to go out on a limb here and just assume you're down here to get all dolled up for one of Coin's interviews, yes? No surprise there."

"Yes," I tell her. "I mean, no. I have an interview, yes, but I am not down here to put makeup on."

Her eyes narrow. "Then why are you," and then she knows. "Oh. Ohhh," she begins to laugh. "Don't tell me you're actually _scared_ to be interviewed? You are, aren't you? Why isn't this just classic. Effie Trinket, famous escort of Katniss Everdeen, is a little camera shy." She points her finger at me, still chuckling. "You know, I really needed a good laugh today and I didn't think I was going to get one, but you-you made it happen."

"I'm not scared," I tell her, my lips twitching into a frown. "I know you don't like me, Johanna. Many of Haymitch's friends seem to have a problem with my being from the Capitol, but I swear, I had no idea what they did to you. None at all!"

Her faces grows cold again, her laughing stopping completely. "You really don't have any idea," she mutters. "As much as you think you do know, you really don't. And don't ever act like you do."

"I don't, I don't," and my hands are shaking even more now. "And that's why I feel so terrible." I begin to mess with my hair, twirling stray locks around my finger to keep myself occupied. "President Coin expects me to address all of these people. Many of whom whose child I've sent to the arena and they've never returned. And not only that, I am to address my old home, the Capitol, and appear as some form of traitor?" I shake my head, "no matter how you look at it, anything I say will be taken wrong. I'm not better than a monster. I mean, I do not support the Capitol anymore. They risked the life of my daughter and I could never forgive them for what they did to me and yet..."

"I want to tell you something," Johanna interrupts, her voice strangely quieter than it was moments ago. "Making the truth known about something isn't wrong and admitting it doesn't make you anything less human."

"But-"

"I said let me talk," she frowns. "After I was rescued and in the clinic, all I could feel was this anger. This undiluted rage. All I wanted to do was to find the Peacekeepers and Capitol officials who did these things, these-" she pauses. "These horrible, horrible things to me and make them suffer. But I wanted go a step further. I didn't just want them to feel the pain that I felt, I wanted their wives, their husbands, children, anyone they ever cared about to feel the pain too. I wanted to make them watch as I slaughtered and tortured their loved ones in front of them so they knew how it felt to suffer. So they knew what it felt like to die inside." She looks at me, her dark eyes filled with an emotion I cannot find words to describe. "Does that make me a monster, or does that make me human?"

I shake my head slowly, "No...no. I understand your anger. It's understandable. After all they did to you..."

She nods. "Right, and you don't judge me for these feelings do you?" I shake my head. "Good, and I doubt you want to punish people as I do?" I shake my head again. "So there's my point. No one is going to judge you for simply telling the truth just as almost anyone wouldn't judge me for my quirk for vengeance."

I inhale slowly, nodding to myself that she is right. That I had nothing to fear and I had every right to do what I am about to do. I lift my gaze, looking over at Johanna with a grateful expression.

"Thank you," I whisper. "I appreciate-"

She holds up her hand, "Don't," she says. "I only went easier on you because Haymitch is my friend and if he likes you, I can't really be that awful. Even if you do still piss me off because you'll always be a part of the Capitol in my eyes."

I offer her a weak smile, still feeling slightly uncomfortable by her presence. "I better go now," I say quietly. "I don't want to keep anyone waiting any longer." I grab the door handle and begin to push my way through when Johanna calls out to me.

"Wait!"

I turn slightly, looking at her over my shoulder.

"Good luck today," she says. "Just remember. Don't do it for them. Do it for your kid."

Johanna's words replay in my mind as I make my way back over to the awaiting guard and Haymitch. He looks to me, slight concern evident in his eyes and I nod, letting him know I'll be alright. As the guard escorts me towards the glass room, I tuck Johanna's advice in the back of my mind as I take a seat on the stool.

"Three," one of the many cameramen mouths. "Two...one..."

"My name is Effie Trinket," the words taste dry on my tongue. "I am, or was the escort of District Twelve. There had been some controversy over me a few months back during The Reaping and I just wanted to clarify that-" I pause, shaking my head. "Nevermind, that is unimportant right now."

My eyes land on the cameramen and one of them gives me a thumbs up. My stomach lurches.

"I am here today for a different reason," I inhale deeply, hands folded in my lap. "I was...naive. About everything. When I worked for the Capitol, I had...I had no idea what they did. You must understand that everything was glorified in good light to Capitol citizens. That none of us really knew the true horrors that Districts faced each and every day. If we had known...if I had known... But we didn't, and I want to extend a formal apology to all of the Districts and all the families who lost children and those whose lives were changed by the Hunger Games. I know my words cannot bring back what you've lost. Nothing can. But know that your loved ones are in everyone's hearts and their loss brought us all closer to the end of this tragedy."

The cameraman motions with his hand to continue and I swallow hard, straightening up further on the stool.

"A few months ago, during the Third Quarter Quell, I was arrested. I was read no rights. Given no freedoms... At the time I was pregnant with my daughter. I wasn't sure what would happen if she was born in that place," another breath. "It didn't matter that I had been a Capitol citizen for all of my life. That I was innocent. Pregnant. That there was nothing I could think of that I had done wrong. Yet, President Snow treated me as someone would treat an ant or a rat or any other verminous creatures. Cruelly."

Another thumbs up. Another hand motion.

"My daughter, Olive, and her father, Haymitch Abernathy, are outside of this room right now. We've all been through a lot and I don't think I could have done what I did without them." My eyes flicker towards the outer window. To Haymitch who stands with Olive nestled in his arms. "I love them both so much. Olive, she...she looks just like Haymitch. Everyone says it. I see it too."

Emotion begins to build in my chest and I swallow hard again, trying to forbid the tears that are welling in my eyes from falling.

"I couldn't imagine having my daughter participate in the Hunger Games. And I cannot fathom what it must have been like for those families who had."

I look straight into the cameras, a sudden burst of confidence finding me. Johanna's words return to my mind, chanting the same phrase over and over again like a broken record: _Don't do it for them. Do it for your kid._

"The Capitol has no intention of stopping The Hunger Games unless we intervene. I know my words may not be taken as seriously as those whom have suffered much worse than I, but setting all differences aside, together we can bring peace and equality to this country. Together, we can stop President Snow and the deaths of all of the innocent."

The cameraman holds up both hands, warning me that I have ten seconds left. I pause, taking on final deep breath, Johanna chanting louder and louder in my head.

"I want my daughter to grow up in a world where she doesn't have to fear for her life every day. Where on her twelfth birthday, we can celebrate it without the constant anxiety that this Reaping Day she could be chosen. Where all families can be safe and happy and no one is lost to the world before their life has even begun. I ask that you do not just do this for yourself, but for your children and all of the children in this country. I implore you one final time, let us stop the Capitol before it is too late."

Three fingers. Now two. One.

"My name is Effie Trinket and this is only the end to a brand new beginning."

**Yet another long chapter to make up for the delay in updating. I'm going to try to update as much as I can possible in the next few weeks, but I am graduating high school a year early as some of you know and have limited writing time due to my classes. However, I will not give up and I will keep writing and posting as quickly as I can! **

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I was very proud of the kiss scene and I hope you guys liked it as much as I did writing it. This was a fun chapter for me and I am highly excited about the next chapter but also sad because this story is coming so very close to its end. Yet, I am still considering a sequel so we'll see how that goes. **

**Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated. I am very curious to know what you thought of the fluff for Hayffie I tried to convey and would love any thoughts or opinions you may have. Concluding, thank you all so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Stay tune for the next one and have a happy Independence Day! -Jen**


	39. The Final Shot

**I am so sorry about the delay in updating. I've been really busy with college (oh yeah, I managed to graduate guys! Woot! One year early!) but anyway, I have not given up on this story, it'll just take me longer than normal to post as I have to focus on my classes. Thanks for being patient!**

**As always, huge thank you to XmadlyinloveX, SassMonster, Catching Fireflies, All For Jesus, Wesfanemt333, Alice, MiaBelles, Minerva-Amantine, cindella204, Morzan's Elvish Daughter, Deadlyrose70, jeffhardyfan93, Anarchy Girl, The One Who Got Sherlocked, allonsysilvertongue, Guest, moonlight goose, Adessa101, My Beautiful Ending, Bluestarisawesome, The Hunger Games - My Life, nevisveli, Tyra, HogwartsDreamer113, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, DrGiggles, ShortySC22, TaylorTrinket, BfHGsiriusluver, CloveLudwig99, asha74, em, lolaboots, ThatOneMentalChick, reppad98, Guest, FleurSuoh, and Tippy for your lovely feedback messages left for last chapter! Now, without further ado as I do owe all of you wonderful readers a chapter, here is the next installment to this story!**

Chapter thirty six: The Final Shot

There is no definition of war. One can attempt to describe it, but none will ever master the words that go full in force with all that has and will occur. It is an illness, one that I suppose is the worst there can possibly be. On the outside, all appears to be calm, almost secure. But delve in deeper, the stench of death and suffering can make even the strongest of individuals cower in fear. None can escape its wrath. Not man. Not woman. Not even a child. And as the weeks drag on and the scent of smoke, black and acidic like the chemicals they derive from, burns off in the distance, towering even higher than the skyscrapers in the Capitol, what little naivety I still possessed leaves me and my mind is left as raw as the wounds of the battle victims.

Since the start of the revolution, as many have begun to call it, Haymitch and I do not see much of each other. He, along with others, lead the war front for those who are in actual combat. Sometimes, days go by without me even receiving word that he is alive and well. I am assured, by Hazelle mostly, that there is no concern in what Haymitch is doing. That he is far from the battle himself and the odds of him being injured or perhaps even captured are low to zero. Yet, my mind stays ill at rest until those few nights where he returns to our room; tired, exhausted, and smelling as wretched as I must. We don't speak much of the war in each other's presence. There is no particular need or desire to. I know who has died and who hasn't, as those who do not fight in combat are left to work on the home front as a medic or whatever various jobs and tasks are needed to be done.

"You should really get some rest," I tell him one particular night, watching as he gazes down at Olive in her crib. "It's late."

He reaches down and from the shadow his arm casts on the back wall, I know he's adjusting the baby's blanket. There's a moment of pause, his hand seemingly hovering over her before he turns to face me.

"She been sleeping fine?" He asks, completely ignoring my own concern for him. "I passed Hazelle in the hall on my way coming here. Told me Olive had colic earlier today."

"Lots of babies get colic," I assure him. "I asked one of the doctors today in the clinic. It's not really a concern so long as it isn't too prolonged. Honestly, I just think he wanted to get my attention elsewhere from worrying about her and becoming more focused on the patients. The soldiers who came in today—"

He grunts, thumb and forefinger pressing both of his temples. "There was another surprise bombing out in the Northern Sector of the Capitol," he informs me. "We'll be more careful next time."

I am no doctor. Not even a nurse. I was born into the finer side of life—luxury at every snap of my fingers—but now the mere idea of that seems so surreal. In a way, I consider it perhaps even ironic that President Coin assigned me to the clinic knowing full well that I knew, and still don't know, nothing about medicine or even first aid for that matter.

Some part of me believes, though maybe wrongfully, that President Coin placed me where she did as a means of punishment. After all, I had sat back and watched the violence inflicted on the districts' children during my times as an escort and now I was able to experience pain such as their's first hand. And the disgust and sure horror she must want me to feel from this experience is working for my stomach still clenches at the very thought of the maimed soldiers from Haymitch's Northern Sector Disaster being rushed into the clinic. None of whom made it through the hour alive.

"I brought you something," he finally says, tearing me from my dark thoughts. "When one of the patrols came back today, they had with them one of the Capitol's supply trucks. Well, they thought they did anyway."

I watch from the dim glow of what little light escapes from outside of the door as he pulls something oblong from inside his pocket. He glances down at it, weighing it in his palm before handing it over to me.

"Turns out the truck had been heading to a boutique or whatever the hell you call one those fancy places," he nods towards the object. "Filled with various bottles of those but this was the only smell I could stand. Thought you might like it before Coin goes through them all and turns them into some gas based war weapon."

My thumb brushes against what feels like a top and I push down. A soft hiss escapes from an unseen hole and in moments, a warm fragrance fills my nasal passages. Perfume. A mixture of honeysuckle and wildflowers and cedar trees. A smell that would probably only be used by a few for the sake of smelling "more authentic for the purposes of show" during a Hunger Games viewing. But to Haymitch, this aroma meant home. It meant District Twelve.

"It's beautiful," I tell him. "Thank you."

"Thought it might come useful," he pauses. "…with the smells and all."

I nod thoughtfully, placing the bottle down beside the worn picture of Olive that rests on my desk. My eyes falter for a moment, looking at the now scratched image of my daughter's first moments of life. I had done my best to keep it in the most proper of conditions, but with some much moving about, the friction of the film against my clothes' fabric had proved too much for it. Now I was keeping it here, a decision that tugged on the heartstrings of my better judgment.

"I can't stay long tonight," Haymitch tells me after a few moments of silence. "Coin has me on night duty. Would object to it if I could, but it'd end up being nothing more than a waste of breath and with how she has me running, I can't really afford to lose that."

He takes a seat beside me on the bed, reeking of sweat and gun powder. Though he hasn't once be sent into the line of action, you wouldn't have been able to tell from how he looks. Nevertheless, stomach twisting at the odor, I find myself resting my head ever so slightly against his shoulder. He's breathing slowly now, certainly attempting to fight off any sleep that tries to encompass his body.

"Have you gotten any sleep today?" I ask softly, listening to quiet rush of air as it enters and exits his mouth.

"No," he mutters. "Haven't had the time."

"What about eating?" I'm looking at him now, knowing the answer already.

"No."

"Haymitch..."

He inhales sharply and I decide not to press either topic further. Instead, the weak conversation falls and silence replaces the lack of words. At this time, I find myself glancing in the direction of Olive's cradle. Sometimes I find myself envying her. How fortunate she is that she will be far too young to remember any of this. That she will not recall the horrors of war. Recollect the sounds and smells of the dying. Think back to a time when fear ran rampant and happiness was a blessing when it could be found. Then gratitude quickly replaces the envy, as a sense of guilt overcoming me. I would never wish these memories on anyone-much less desire my own child to experience them. And as I watch her in the darkness, the silhouette of a tiny frame moving slightly as she sleeps, I suddenly want nothing more than to hold her close and to close my eyes, pretending that this, all of this, is nothing more than a dream.

"Can you believe she'll be four months this week," I murmur, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight. "It seems only yesterday that she was born. It's as if time has froze and yet," my gaze shifts to meet Haymitch's, "it has gone by so quickly just the same. How is it possible?"

"Don't know," he replies quietly. "Then again, with all that has been happening, seems like we've already missed so much of her life. Thought Coin would've let _you_ stay with her or at least assign you to the childcare facility. But, that would have been too kind." He inhales, scrubbing at the sides of his face with his hands. "War is hell, Princess. It changes a person. Look at me. Look at you. You can't sit there and tell me we're the same people who sat watching the 74th Hunger Games nearly two years ago."

"We're not," I admit. "But I think that we changed even before all of this happened. Don't you?"

"Maybe," he shrugs. "And maybe not."

Before I can reply, a whimper sounds from Olive's crib. It's not unusual for her to wake up several times during the night-especially when colic gets the best of her. I turn, readying to get her when Haymitch raises his hand stopping me.

"I've got her."

He stands slowly, the bed creaking slightly as the weight leaves his side and he goes over to the bassinet. Olive makes a sound as Haymitch lifts her up, holding her to his chest as he makes his way back over to me. When I was pregnant, I often feared what sort of father he would be. That he would struggle to connect with her as his father had him. But, when I watch him now, holding her as he does, I can't help but feel guilty of ever mistrusting him with such a duty.

"You look a little confused, Half Pint," he tells her, watching as her features scrunch and relax as if uncertain whether to cry or not. "Don't worry, kid. I feel the same way when I'm drunk."

"Haymitch."

"Just being honest with her," he says, his attention reverting back to the baby. "I haven't seen you a lot these past few weeks. At least, not when you're awake. Doubt I smell too pretty but you should know that your diapers-"

"Haymitch!"

"Relax, Princess, it's not like she even knows what I'm saying," he mutters. "I struggle enough speaking to kids as it is. Best practice and make mistakes now before she starts being able to comprehend and respond."

My attention shifts to Olive as a string of drool dribbles past her lips and down her chin. She's grown a significant amount since her birth-the same unable to be said about her hair or lack there of-but she's chubbier, more vocal in other means than crying, and expressive. Her eyes meet mine and her pout lips open and curve into a smile. She gurgles, a pudgy hand reaching out and taking a hold of a piece of Haymitch's shirt. I wonder if she recognizes us yet. If she knows who we are.

"Nice to see someone is able to smile still," Haymitch comments, his thumb grazing underneath her chin as he wipes away the saliva. "Reminds me of you," he looks at me.

"Me?" I ask, surprise evident in my voice.

"I only meant that in the past, back before things got really bad, you always had a way of...looking at the more positive side of things. It was annoying as hell but...nice," he finishes. "Didn't mean it as a bad thing. Meant it as..."

"Haymitch Abernathy," I muse. "Are you actually complimenting me?"

"Not if you mock me for it," he mutters. "Forget I said anything."

He looks back to Olive, who at the moment seems to be in the middle of a large yawn, and smirks. Her eyelids slowly droop, her expression relaxing as the need to sleep is realized by her body. At least she seems to be comfortable now. No gas pains. No colic. Haymitch's lips press together, an emotion present on his face that I cannot read. Gingerly, he unhooks the fingers that still latch onto his shirt, and carefully holds her out towards me.

"I have to go," he mumbles. "Before Coin sends out a search party for me."

I take Olive, careful not to jostle her as I cradle her to my chest. Once he sees I have a good grasp on her, Haymitch rises from his seat on the bed. For a moment, he seems to hesitate as if unsure of his next move. Then, unexpectedly, he leans over and places a chaste kiss on my lips. Baffled, I am left speechless as he straightens back up, face still unreadable.

"Stay safe," are the finally words he says to me. "Don't do anything stupid."

**xXx**

The medic uniform chafes against my skin, the woolen clothing both unbearable and necessary for the weather at hand. From where I sit in the military convoy, I can't see much as to where we are going or what we might be taken to. Someone's hand touches my knee and I look up to see the sympathetic expression of Prim Everdeen. How she has aged these last few months. How we all have.

"A familiar face," I breathe. "Honestly, I know nothing of medicine. I usually stay back at the base but I was told that today I was needed elsewhere. Any idea as to where we are going?"

"I'm not too sure," Prim admits. "But it has to be something big. Did you see all of the vehicles they're bringing? All medics, I'm sure of it."

I remember Haymitch's words to me the night before. How I was to stay safe. Not to do anything stupid. Surely they would not take us anywhere too dangerous. After all, we were no soldiers, but those offering aid. My mind wanders to Olive. To the drowsy faced baby I handed off to some stranger at the childcare facility before sauntering off to do what I was assigned to. At least she would be safe.

"Have you heard from Haymitch?" Prim's voice breaks my train of thought. "Did he say anything about Katniss or Peeta? Have you heard anything?"

We hit something in the road that makes the car jolt and all ten medics-including myself and Prim-who are stationed in the vehicle bounce at least a few inches into the air. When we land, a few curses and groans sound. I look to Prim who watches me with such hope in her eyes.

"No," I say quietly. "No, I'm afraid I haven't heard anything on your sister. Haymitch comes by occasionally but doesn't stay or say much."

"Oh," and there is sorrow in her tone. "Well, I'm sure they are both well then. I know we would have heard otherwise if that wasn't the case." She offers me a smile and I immediately think of Olive. Everything seems to remind me of her. "How's the baby?"

"Who? Olive?" I inhale deeply. "She's well. The center seems to take good care of her while Haymitch and I are away. She's grown a lot since she was born. You should come by sometime when you have the chance and visit. She loves people. Very social. She gets that from me, of course."

"I'd love to," Prim says, her smile growing. "And if you ever need someone to watch her. I mean, once all of this is over and we're back in District Twelve, I'd be more than happy to. You know, if you and Haymitch ever need a date night."

I cannot help but laugh. "The idea of a date even crossing Haymitch's mind will occur when pigs can fly. That man doesn't even understand the concept of romanticism." But my lips curl into a smile nevertheless. "Thank you. I will definitely hold you to that, though."

Prim looks as if she wants to say more but the sudden slowing of the vehicles silences any words that might've escaped. The air goes quiet and I find myself looking to all of the other medics who sit in here with me. Why had we stopped moving? Was this it? Were we here? I open my mouth, wanting to ask when something, not too far off in the distance, explodes and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at the noise that follows. Screaming.

My blood runs cold and suddenly, I feel very numb as the medics begin to file quickly out of the car. Prim has taken a hold of my upper arm, pulling on me to follow her as I mindlessly step from the safety of the convey and into the thick, wet slush below.

Large snowflakes cling to my eyelashes as the stench of sulfur and smoke fills my nose. I'm shuffling now, crammed in between a large group of uniformed medics as we move quickly towards where ever the sounds came from. Prim is pressed up against me, her breath forming soft white puffs as it leaves her mouth. We shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here.

Someone smashes a first aid kit into my arms. I hold it close, confused and frightened as to what is happening. No one shouts any orders. No one says anything as we continue to hurry like cattle into a slaughterhouse towards whatever danger lies ahead. And suddenly, after minutes of not knowing where we were going or what I was assigned to do, I see what all of the commotion is about.

Children. Hundreds of them. Lay dying or dead, terrified and in pain, across the blood spattered snow of the City Circle. The rebels have taken us to the Capitol. My stomach lurches, the urge to turn and run away from these poor victims burning in me. I want to vomit. I want to hide. I never agreed to any of this. But as the rebel medics rush in, I find myself being pushed closer and closer into the disaster site.

"Help me," one calls out, his face unrecognizable from the damage that has been done from the explosion. "Please."

My mouth quivers, words jostling together as I cowardly move away from him._ 'I cannot help you,'_ I want to say. _'This isn't what I was meant to do. I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry'_.

Another child grabs for me from the ground. Her fingers black from either burns or frost. Her mouth moves but I can understand nothing. I cannot help her. I cannot help any of them. They will all die. I had seen enough death to know that.

It takes me a moment to realize Prim as left my side. I whip around, looking desperately for her. She would know what to do. She could help those who I could not. But midst the mass chaos, she is nowhere to be seen. I move on, my mind blank when I catch sight of a small child cowering in a nearby alleyway. Her face is covered in soot, her hair knotted with frost and ash, but otherwise she looks alright. Just frightened. Absolutely terrified.

"It's alright," I tell her, my own voice breaking at the words. "It's going to be okay."

I reach out for her but she shrinks back. Just as I debate if I should go grab her, I hear a name. A name spoken by the same voice I remember so distinctly from the 74th Hunger Games. I whip around, watching in horror as Katniss Everdeen pushes her way through the crowd and towards a figure I can only assume is Prim.

"Prim!" She cries out. "Prim!"

And for a few seconds, everything freezes. It's as if the world itself has stopped moving. As if all has fallen still, peaceful in the middle of the chaotic period. Then, the rumbling shatters the false image. Smoke bellowing out from the center of the City Circle as the wall of fire barrels towards me. And I, Effie Trinket, become just as doomed as the rest.

**Oops, cliffhanger! Hopefully the transitions in this chapter made sense. I felt that Effie would be stuck as one of the volunteer medics because Coin, like others in District Thirteen (not all) are not fans of even ex-Capitol citizens. So, I believe this would be Coin's way of punishing Effie. Making her experience suffering and pain first hand. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I am actually really excited about the next one because of a conversation I thought of that I really want to put into it! Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! It lets me know your thoughts and gives me that extra push to continue writing! Thank you all so much! -Jen**


	40. A Means of Repair

**Before I begin, as always, a huge thanks to Minerva-Amantine, kelliejo19, Clara Meliza, Catching Fireflies, NaomiBlue, The Hunger Games - My Life, Savysnape7, TragicallyBeautifulxx, American Fantasy, homicidalhufflepuffs, Deadlyrose70, moonlight goose, Swifty22, My Beautiful Ending, SassMonster, Pixie hollow faerie, DrGiggles, Balleka, FleurSuoh, ShortySC22, Guest, HogwartsDreamer113, A Stargazer's Lullaby, and Tyra for your very kind, incredibly motivating feedback left for the last chapter! And, of course, much gratitude to those who read, do art, alert, and favorite this story! Now, without further ado, here is the next chapter installment to this story!**

Chapter thirty seven: A Means of Repair

The wall of fire hisses as it slithers quickly across the slick pavement managing somehow to still be monstrous despite the wet conditions. There is no time to react. To run. To hide. The only thing I seem to be able to do is to throw my arms in front of my face in some poor attempt to shield myself as the wave of fire rushes towards me, licking at my skin as it prepares to engulf me whole. One last breath, one last thought to an unexpected demise when something sharp digs deep into my shoulders and I am flung backwards with such an alarming force that when I hit the ground, everything goes black.

"Get up," a voice growls. "Get up now. I can't damn well carry you!"

I move and as if to greet me, a splitting pain like no other erupts from my head. My stomach lurches, eyes squeezing shut as the throbbing in my temples grows to an immense strength before simmering down to an ache. Whoever did this, whoever _saved _me, has surely done it in such a way that I developed a concussion from their actions. I try to slip my arm underneath me to cradle my head, but something about the movement doesn't feel quite right and I stop. The snow feels soothing against my hot flesh and the urge to sleep has never felt so strong in my life.

"Come on!"

Suddenly, I find myself being forced to sit upright. My eyes fly open, colors bombarding my vision as my head spins, an inhuman cry cutting through the air that I soon realize came from me. I moan unceremoniously clutching my head with the opposite arm that I had tried to cradle it with before. '_Just leave me here to die,' _I think. _'I don't care anymore. Just leave me. My head. My head…' _

"Quit your whining," the voice hisses. "Christ, some people have it a hell lot worse than you and they aren't soaking their asses in the snow whimpering about it. Come on, Trinket, we have to go now. For the love of all things holy, I don't understand how Abernathy has the nerve to put up with you."

Finally, the pain subsides long enough for me to look into the face of my rescuer. Almost immediately, the throbbing begins again but this time for a different reason. Johanna Mason. The District Seven victor in all of her scarred, unmanner-esque glory glares down at me with such distaste, I wish I was back in the flames. Why was she here anyway?

"Johanna?" I mumble, my tongue sticking to my dry mouth. "Wha—"

"Surely you didn't think Coin was going to let me sit around and do nothing. Not with all of the other victors _aiding_ in the war effort," she smirks. "Got put on medic duty and it seems like you're damn well lucky I did." She nods towards what appears to be the entrance of an alleyway. "Saw you standing out there like a loblolly tree during a hurricane. You had no chance. Considered letting you go myself but I owe Abernathy. A lot. So I couldn't."

"Thanks for your chivalry," I mutter, closing my eyes as another wave of pain cascades in my head. "But your assistance is no longer required. I can do just fine on my own."

"Maybe," muses Johanna. "But I wouldn't shove me off just yet. Not with that arm of yours looking like it does."

Confused, my gaze flickers quickly from Johanna and down to my arm. Immediately, my stomach drops and another wave of desired unconsciousness overcomes me. At first, it takes me a moment to realize that the sleeve of red on my arm is not a part of my uniform, but of my skin. Large, white welts bubble up across the length of the limb, ugly and unsightly. And further, going down towards my fingers, the flesh is gray and glossy and I cannot feel a thing. Bile rises in my throat and I close my eyes, panting heavily as I try to convince myself that this is nothing more than a nightmare.

"Don't pass out on me again, Trinket," Johanna says, her voice not nearly as steely this time. "You'll get time later to blubber about your arm. Right now, we're in the dead center of a war zone. We putz around and you'll end up with more than just a cosmetic mishap."

There is no time to mourn the assured loss of my arm-or, at least its appearance-as Johanna slips her arms underneath mine and hoists me upward. White dots dance in front of my vision as I take a step forward, Johanna's nails digging deep into the forearm of my good limb as she keeps me steady. As we begin to walk, I notice how eerily quiet it is. How, unlike before, there are no cries or screams of terror. If I hadn't heard Johanna's voice before, I would have sworn that perhaps I had not only come out of this maimed, but deaf as well.

The ground is no longer white, but muddied and soot covered as we trudge heavily through the terrain. My head spins, stomach lurching every time my foot makes contact with the earth. Yet, a small part of me is thankful for this. I'd rather feel the pain in my head than that of my arm. We walk on, the cold nipping at our faces as we search for any sign of aid, Rebel or perhaps even Capitol, anyone at all who'd be willing to help us.

"Who set off the explosions?" I finally muster up the strength to ask. "Was it planned?"

I look to Johanna hoping for recognition, but she does not glance back at me. Her eyes, though fixed forward, seem to be unfocused as if she chooses not to see anything that is around her. My throat burns from lack of water and I fall silent again, counting each step we take in my head. Trying to keep away the dizziness that grows stronger by the second.

"Keep up," Johanna urges, her voice beginning to lose the bitterness it held before. "We have to keep going."

I'm sauntering now, my body feeling strangely warm despite the frigid conditions of the weather. Even the wet sludge is starting to look as welcoming as a bed. If I just lay down right now, if I just die right here, maybe it wouldn't be so bad. I stop in my tracks, my knees trembling as the will power to continue on fades further and further from my reach. I'm just so tired. So very tired.

"Come on," Johanna tugs roughly on my arm. "Stop this."

"Go on without me," I mumble, my eyes feeling incredibly heavy as the pain simmers down. "Go on, I'll be fine. I just need to rest."

"That's what Blight said to me during the Quarter Quell and you see how well that turned out for him," she hisses. "We're going to freeze to death if you keep this up. Just…just keep walking, there has to be some help up ahead."

"I can't," I whisper. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry my ass," Johanna growls. "The famous Effie Trinket is giving up now? What, a little flesh wound has gotten the better of you? No wonder they stuck you with District Twelve. A failure for a fail."

I look to her, my eyes squinting as I try to keep her in focus. "Why do you even care what happens to me?" I mumble. "You don't even like me and surely you're equal with Haymitch after saving me the first time. Why?"

Johanna seems to hesitate for a moment, her eyes burning with what appears to be both rage and desperation. Then, she exhales, her shoulders slouching in defeat. Never, had I ever seen Johanna Mason look this way. So small. So vulnerable. Even during her Hunger Games, her faux fragility looked nothing compared to this. Suddenly, a sense of fear replaces my exhaustion and I wish more than ever to be trapped back in the flames. What had I said?

"His name was Oleander," she says slowly. "He was one of those 'late in life' babies you hear people having occasionally. I mean, my parents were old as it was when I was born, but they sure weren't expecting to have another kid when their daughter was nearly sixteen." There's a pause and Johanna seems to struggle to continue. "Early on in her pregnancy, my mother had some complications that resulted in Oleander being born prematurely. I remember how tiny he looked as the whisked him away from her side. How fragile. And though I wanted to, I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing." She looks away from me, her eyes once again unfocused. "They said he was sick. Really sick. That no medical equipment in District Seven could help him. And so, when I was reaped a few weeks later, I thought that maybe if I won the Games that maybe with the money I could…"

"Johanna," I begin but am quickly silenced when she visibly stiffens.

"I met Haymitch for the first time on my way back from training one night and we got to talking. I told him about Oleander and he advised me not to mention anything about him during my interview with Caesar Flickerman the next night. That for the sake of my brother, to keep my mouth shut about anyone important to me back home. I didn't understand at the time why but Haymitch had won the Games for a reason. He had survived. Maybe he knew what he was talking about."

Pain is evident in her eyes but the threat of tears is nowhere to be seen. Still keeping her grip tight on my arm, she takes a step forward, pulling me along as her jaw clenches. This time, I decide not to argue with her as we press on, snowflakes beginning to fall from the dusk sky.

"I won the Games," she says finally. "By some stroke of sheer luck, I won. And when I got back home…" her breath hitches in her throat. "Weeks ago. Hours after I had left for the Capitol he had…Nobody had bothered to tell me. Had even thought to find some way to send word to me that he was gone. Maybe they thought it was best. That I wasn't going to come back anyway. I—I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Johanna Mason is the last person I would have ever expected to admit to anything. And yet, for her to have even confessed this to me of all people is perhaps that much more surprising. I watch her quietly, unsure if the aching in my chest is still from my physical pain or now for the emotion discomfort brought on by this news.

"I got a letter from Haymitch a few months after moving into Seven's Victor's Village. In it, he expressed his condolences for the loss of Oleander and said he knew what it was like to lose someone who meant something to you." For a second, her lips curve into an almost humorous smile. "He sent money, you know. His own to my family while I was in the Games thinking that maybe they could afford to get my brother some medical attention? Of course, my parents immediately sent it back thanking him but saying that it was already too late. That Oleander wasn't suffering anymore. And you know what that stubborn ass Abernathy did?"

I shake my head.

"He sent it right back to them. Told them to use the money for whatever they wanted. Food, clothing, whatever. He didn't care. It wasn't much use to him anyway. That he'd always get more when his biannual compensation came in." She inhales, her eyes finally locking on mine. "Haymitch was there when no one else was for my family. He was there for me, for all of us, after the Capitol took…" she shakes her head. "I don't like you Trinket. I don't like you one bit. But it would be one hell of a bitch move on my part if I didn't protect his family like he did mine. So we're going to get out of this together. You and me. And you can curse and hate me all you want, but that's what we're going to do."

"Alright," I mumble, suddenly far too exhausted to feel any sentiment towards Johanna's "motivational" speech about surviving. "Okay. Alright."

She pulls me along, my legs barely able to hold themselves up as we continue to search for any sign of help. Soon, my body begins to betray me and though I know I must keep walking, that I cannot give up as much as much as I want to, I start to falter. Johanna grabs me as I begin to stumble towards the ground.

"Stay with me, Trinket," she says, her voice edged with anxiety. "You can't damn well sleep here. Just keep pushing through. I'm sure you have one of those plush beds with those ridiculous frilly pillows waiting back at Thirteen for you. Just…tell me about her?"

"Who?" I ask meekly.

"Your kid," Johanna replies, grunting as she moves my good arm over her shoulder. "Tell me about her."

"She likes to eat," is what first slips from my mouth. "A lot. But milk mostly, maybe some formula. She doesn't have a lot of hair. Haymitch is convinced she'll be bald for the rest of her life. Or maybe he was joking, I don't know."

"That's good," Johanna puffs. "Keep going."

My arm is beginning to sting now. The pain, though not intense, is finally making itself known to me. A sharp sound escapes from my mouth as I clamp my lips tightly together. Johanna's pace quickens but I know she is starting to feel her own energy drain as mine has done. Any longer out here and we both might be goners.

"My arm," I mumble, surely sounding delirious. "Hurts."

"That's a good sign," Johanna replies. "Pain means you've still got some feeling in there. The damage can't be too bad if you can feel it."

We keep going, the sky beginning to turn a dark purple as the sun sinks off into the distance. I can hear Johanna breathing heavily, cursing under her breath about us being left behind and how the rebels must have just assumed we both perished in the bombing. And I cannot help but think of Haymitch and Olive. Would they be alright without me? Would Olive grow up as uncultured as her father? Surely someone would instill some manners in her. Such thoughts, such silly concerns run rampant in my mind when a loud hum sounds overhead.

"Oh thank Panem," Johanna whispers. "A hovercraft."

But our joys are short lived as suddenly the craft itself seems to continue on its path, threatening to fly over and completely miss us. Panic flashes across Johanna's face and she looks to me before looking back at the departing craft.

"Look, I'll be right back," she says hastily, lowering me onto a nearby rock. "I have to catch their attention. You just wait here and I promise I'll be back. Swear it. Just don't going dying on me alright? I have enough to explain to Abernathy as it is."

My vision blurs as I watch Johanna hurry through the snow waving her arms wildly in the air like a mad man. She's shouting, screaming incoherently and though it looks utterly ridiculous, it seems to actually work. The hovercraft stalls where it sits in the air, then slowly, though it is relatively high up, I can see the belly of it slide open and a set of thick ropes and what looks like other means of transportation fall down. We're saved.

Finally, I can fight the will to stay awake off no longer and my eyes begin to close. Through my final moments of consciousness, I can see people hurrying towards me. Their figures hurdling colors against the white snow. My mind finally shuts down and I slip away effortlessly into a place where the pain cannot reach me.

**xXx**

My sleep is deep. Dreamless. Partly, I'm sure, due to whatever was given to me while I was out. Yet, when consciousness does seem to find me once again, I wake to a very similar room to what I was in after being rescued from the Capitol. Only this time, I am in absolutely no pain. On the contrary, I feel surprisingly marvelous.

"The morphling kicking in, Princess?"

I turn my head slightly and blink. There, sitting opposite to me, is none other than Haymitch Abernathy himself. He's watching me, arms folded loosely over his chest, slightly slouched in a chair. I smile at him, feeling rather giddy. So I am on morphling right now? What an incredibly lovely drug.

"Hi," I say, laughing at Panem knows what. "Hello."

"Hey yourself," but there is no enthusiasm in his voice. "Are you in any pain? They pumped you up with so much of that stuff, I'd be surprised if you can feel anything for a week."

I shake my head, no longer feeling nauseous or any ounce of throbbing from the movement. "I feel okay," I tell him. "No pain. Actually, I feel perfectly fine enough to leave. Can I go home now? I want to see my baby. Where's my baby?"

"Hazelle's gonna be watching her for a few days while you're in recovery," Haymitch says. "She'll bring her over later on when you're not so loopy. You've been in surgery for hours, Princess. Did quite a number on your arm there."

My arm. Without really thinking, I try to move my arm as to get a better look at it. Much quicker than I had expected him to be, Haymitch lunges forward and presses a hand to the upper part of my shoulder, a place where the burns did not reach, and I stop at once as his eyes lock onto mine.

"What the hell are you trying to do? Screw everything up?" He growls. "They just spent the past day putting grafts on you. Keep moving like that and next time they won't be able to salvage your arm."

A sense of relief washes over me and I grin wildly at Haymitch. "My arm's okay?" I ask. "I can keep it?"

There's a look in Haymitch's face that quickly crashes over my moment of jubilee. "Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Princess, you were hurt pretty badly. At first, they weren't so sure if you were going to make it much less your arm. But once we got that squared away," he leans back in his chair. "I told them you'd be very pissed off if you woke up to one less arm. So, I told them to do what they could and it looks like it wasn't for nothing." He shrugs. "It won't ever be as functioning as it used to be and it's going to take a hell of a lot of time before you can actually get the strength to use it at all, but you can keep your arm."

"Good," I say after a moment's pause. "Good, that's very good, right?"

"Sure," he says, his voice a little softer than it was before. "Princess, what the hell were you doing out there? I told you not to do anything stupid and you turn right around and go straight into the bloody epicenter of it all."

"That wasn't my intention," I say quietly. "I was sent there. We all were. Me, Prim, even Johanna." And then it dawns on me. "How are they? Have you heard from them? Haymitch, Johanna _saved_ my life. She's alright, yes? And Prim. Before the explosion, I saw…"

The look on his face is defeating. The breath hitches in my throat and I shake my head violently. No, she can't be dead. She can't be gone. Not after everything. Not after all Katniss went through to protect her. Not Prim.

"No," my voice is surprisingly cold. "No, Haymitch, you're wrong. She…she can't be gone. I was just with her a little while ago. She was fine. We were talking. She wanted to _babysit_ for us. You can't just sit there and—"

And I'm crying. Full out, no resistance sobbing. I feel Haymitch's arms around me and with my good arm, I cling to him. The Everdeens were like our family. Are our family. They had been since I had been trapped those many months back in District Twelve after the illegal hunting incident. Poor Katniss. Poor Mrs. Everdeen. Poor Prim.

"How's Katniss," I ask when I regain some ability to speak. "She's not—"

"No," he confirms. "She got blasted pretty bad but she's alive. Well, if you want to call it that." I can feel his chest rise against the side of my cheek. "War changes all of us, Princess. Doesn't matter who you were before it. But it's over now."

I look to him, "Over?"

He nods, "Snow's been captured and the Capitol has surrendered. We won."

Victory should be a good feeling. Of happiness. Of excitement. But inside, I feel nothing but sorrow and loss. I let my eyes close and rest against Haymitch. I have so many questions, so many thoughts, but I cannot find the will to speak. Instead, I listen to the sound of Haymitch's heavy breaths more content with that than anything else.

"There's still much to be done," he says breaking the silence. "A lot. Trials, governing, laws, settlements. People are celebrating too prematurely in my opinion. We still have a long haul ahead of us."

"I just want to go home," I whisper. "Haymitch, I don't want to do this anymore."

"I know," he says. "I know you don't and I'm working on that. And with you being injured and all, I think now it's more said than done."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

He pulls back slightly just enough so that we are eye level. "I mean that I think I can arrange for you and Olive to go back to District Twelve's Victor's Village. Back to our home. Once you're well again. The whole plot of houses were the only things left untouched when District Twelve was destroyed. Of course, it'd be awhile before I could join you both. I still have a lot to take care of here."

"How long?"

"At least a couple of months," he admits. "If all works out well. You wouldn't be alone either. Thirteen wants to send a few families back at a time along with some cleanup crews. Slowly transitioning everyone back into society, I guess."

Home. An idea that I desired so much but seemed like an impossible dream after all that had occurred. But now, after all this time, perhaps it could be a reality. Perhaps finally we would be able to return. I watch Haymitch for a few moments, unsure of what to say next. I want nothing more than to take Olive away from this place. Away from all of the troubles, sadness, and suffering and to her home where we can all be together as a family. But a part of me doesn't want to leave Haymitch here alone. A part of me wants to stay put in Thirteen with him and with Katniss and Peeta and everyone of our friends and stick it out to the end. Yet, it's not about what I want anymore. It never was from the moment the doctor told me the reason I had vomited in that restaurant in front of Portia and Cinna. The result of that one drunken night with Haymitch. Olive.

"Home," I finally exhale. "I think I would like that."

"Yeah," Haymitch agrees. "Me too."

**I really loved writing this chapter. I don't know, I think it was because I got to develop Johanna more than I thought I would and that was a lot of fun. I really hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Only two more chapters left in this story, guys (the epilogue is included in that number). It makes me really sad to think that this is drawing to an end, but yet, I'm really proud of myself for having stuck with this. I know I brought this up a few months back, but I decided to again. So here it goes: I'm really debating whether to do a sequel or not so it would be super helpful to me to know if anyone would be interested in reading one because though I love writing for myself, it makes me so happy to know others enjoy to read what I write. So, if you'd be interested in a sequel, let me know and I will tell you my final decision by the end of this story.**

**Also, any feedback, constructive or not, is greatly loved and appreciated. It's kind of a hope of mine that this story will reach the 1500 review mark by its completion and it is pretty close in a sense. I just seriously want to thank those who have reviewed so far. I take every word you say into consideration when I write and I am so very thankful. If you haven't ever reviewed or haven't in awhile, I'd love to know what you think of the story so far. And again, just thank you to all who have read and alerted and favorited in general. You guys are amazing! Alright, enough of my blabbering. I will start working on the next chapter soon! Thanks so much guys! -Jen**


	41. Homeward Bound (Part One)

**I apologize for the lack in updates. I had midterm exams at college and I had to focus on those. Thankfully those are older and now I can return to writing. Anyway, if I could, I would shake each and every single one of your hands but since I cannot, here is the next best thing! A tremendous thank you to homicidalhufflepuffs, Deadlyrose70, blueskyblues, SassMonster, My Beautiful Ending, moonlight goose, Contrary To Popular Belief, Adessa101, NaomiBlue, Minerva-Amantine, soullshakedown, Ameliaxox, HogwartsDreamer113, The Hunger Games - My Life, Guest, DrGiggles, Guest, Morzan's Elvish Daughter, ShortySC22, ThatOneMentalChick, nevisveli, TaylorTrinket, Bluestarisawesome, Right Hand Blue, Tess, Princess Skye Jewel, EuphemiaTrinket, XmadlyinloveX, BfHGsiriusluver, Livia, Caro, asha74, Guest, xx-Want-A-Sugar-Cube-xx, Asta, Guest, lizzieee, Rissa, 96RosePetals, Anastasia The Goddess of Drama, Guest, Mystique84, gramwaitforitpola, and Abby and Liv Snigglebottom for your extremely kind and inspirational reviews! Okay, I've chattered enough! Chapter time (just a head's up, there are a lot of scene changes in this chapter merely for the purpose of getting everything I needed to get in here without having more chapters that focused on one particular scene. Hope they are easy to understand!)**

Chapter thirty eight: Homeward Bound (Part One)

I never knew the strength of a morphling dose until it began to course through my veins. The first night after the bombing, I sit in the void that lies between consciousness and unconsciousness, fighting against myself to feel something other than the numbness the medication brings. Haymitch comes in and out of my hospital room, watching me, pacing-but I can never find the energy in myself to speak to him. Only reach out towards him with a phantom hand that the hallucinations create, unable to ever touch him physically. Under the medicine, I am incapacitated. Alive but dead. Here but gone. And I cannot help but question how the Morphlings from District Six were able to handle this feeling. I begin to lose track of time. Of reality. So I sleep, waiting for the moment when I can exist again.

It comes sooner than I expect it to. One morning, as I lie in bed wondering if at this moment I am truly awake or still asleep, someone enters my room that is not Haymitch. Wearily, I watch as they approach my bedside, their gray uniform just inches from my person as they lean over and grasp the IV that's position on the top of my hand. There is no pain, just a soft tug, and in the dim light of the room, I can almost make out the gleam of the metallic needle as it dangles from the figure's hand.

"What the hell is going on?"

There is the sound of a door being slammed open and from my bed, I can see Haymitch striding into the room with a look of fury etched onto his face. I try to reach out towards him but my hand doesn't seem to move. My body is still paralyzed from the effects of the medication even though my supply has been tampered with.

"Who gave you permission to take out her IV?" Haymitch spats. "There is more than enough damn medication to go around. If this is about rationing again, I'll go speak to Coin myself and-"

"I'm sorry, sir," the figure who came in previously says. "But it was President Coin herself who requested Ms. Trinket be taken off morphling."

"What the hell for?" Haymitch growls. "Effie has done enough for that woman as it is. What else in Panem could she possibly want her for? Fashion advice?"

"I'm sorry, sir," the figure repeats. "But I can't disclose that information at this time. If you want to know your wife's agenda, I suggest-"

"She isn't-" Haymitch begins. "Look, I get that you're too damn scared to say anything to me because you don't know what Coin'll do if you blab. But I have every right to know what she has planned for Effie. Maybe you can write it down or something and just happen to lose the slip of paper on the floor-"

"That will not be necessary, Mr. Abernathy," a voice cuts in.

Through the haze the medicine brings, I can just make out President Coin as she struts into my clinic room and over to my bedside. She stands over me, face expressionless as her eyes sweep over my body. After a considerable amount of time, she nods thoughtfully before turning around to face Haymitch.

"What's this about, Coin?" Haymitch asks, his voice void of any friendly emotion. "Effie's done all that you've asked of her. We've taken the Capitol. Snow's in custody. You have your country. What the hell more could you possibly want?"

"I asked for her to be taken off the medication yesterday," President Coin, ignoring Haymitch's inquiry, says to the figure whom by now I assume is a medic. "And here she is, high as a kite. Tell me, exactly whose order precedes mine?"

"Dr. Aurelius thought that it'd be better-" the medic stutters. "If-if..."

"Dr. Aurelius is not in charge," President Coin interrupts. "I am. And just because we've won this war does not mean victory is yet upon us. Tell that to Dr. Aurelius. There are still things that we must all take care of."

She glides over to my side again, thin fingers resting on what looks like a clipboard. Carefully, she rests the object on my chest making sure whatever is attached to it is not scrambled. Wearily, I try to focus on the faint print etched on the surface of the paper. My mind is still suspended in the fog from the medicine but slowly, even though it's been but minutes, my sense begin to return in a dull, constant ache that resides mostly in my injured arm.

"I took the liberty of creating this for you," President Coin informs me. "It's mostly just for show. I know how you appreciate your itineraries." It's almost as if it's in mockery as she taps the center of the clipboard. "I apologize if you are not feeling up to this but I did request you be taken off your medication yesterday. There isn't much I can do now but wish you well with the warmest of regards."

"What are you-" Haymitch retries.

"Ms. Trinket," President Coin once more interrupts, holding up her hand to silence Haymitch. "Mr. Abernathy did inform you what today is, did he not?"

I glance over in confusion at Haymitch. Since arriving here, I hadn't been in that much of a mindset to really recall anything, much less understand. His eyes meet mine for a moment before flickering down to the ground, almost as if he wants to avoid what President Coin wants to surface.

"No," I say not looking away from him. "I...No, and I don't really think I'd remember even if he had."

"Pity," she exhales. "I was hoping that at least that would have been established since nothing seems to be according to plan with you. Ironic, isn't it?" Haymitch looks as if he wants to interject when President Coin continues. "Nevertheless, I suppose it all falls on me as usual. Ms. Trinket, you are at least aware of President Snow's incarceration?"

I nod my head slowly. "Yes...yes, he did."

And for the first time since my arrival in District Thirteen, I watch as President Coin's thin lips curl into a slight smile. It's not one of happiness nor really of falsity, but something about it etched in her expression causes my very blood to curdle in my veins. It's a transformation I do not like and surely need no evidence to prove why. Her fingers absentmindedly press down on the clipboard, almost painfully forcing the object against my already bruises rib cage.

"Today we will mark the beginning of a new century of liberty," she states. "With the execution of President Coriolanus Snow."

My lungs struggle to remember how to draw oxygen from the air for a moment. I'm at a loss for words as I stare directly at both President Coin in Haymitch uncertain of what I should say or how I should react to that. President Snow had dehumanized me for weeks. Destroyed the home I loved, the people I cared about, and the person that I was. But he was still just a man. Human. And this whole war had started over the indecent treatment of life. I despised him. Hated him. But never had I ever saw it fit to take life for a life-an eye for an eye. What message would executing him project to others? That violence was indeed the answer?

"I'm...I'm not sure if I follow," I say after a good few moments of silence. "You mean to tell me, you intend on killing him?"

President Coin's facial features form an expression of annoyance. "It was the plan all along, Ms. Trinket. Since the beginning. And now that most of this idea has been completed, it's time for the final stages to be placed into action. One of which involves you." I can seem Haymitch visibly stiffening from behind her as she inhales calmly. "Someone needs to get our executioner ready, Ms. Trinket, and what better person for the job than the woman has been doing so these last several months?"

It's then that it hits me. Cold. Heavy. Unforgiving. It's Katniss Everdeen they intend on having murder President Snow. Katniss who just lost her sister. Katniss who has been through hell and back again. Katniss who, if out of everyone, deserves to be left alone. Katniss who, along with Peeta, are the closest people to children Haymitch and I have besides our very own daughter.

"No," I whisper. "You can't do that to her. She's been through so much already. You can't put this type of pressure on her. Not after all that has happened. For Panem's sake, she's just lost her sister. I was there! I saw-"

"Katniss is well aware of what she must do," President Coin says coldly. "We've already spoken and she has wholeheartedly agreed. I advise you to do the same, Ms. Trinket. I will not have any problems with this today. Everyone in District Thirteen as well as the other districts deserve this closure. Be respectful for those who have never been as fortunate as you."

And at that moment, my detest for President Snow dwindles and is replaced by a new fire. One that screams President Snow's name as it crackles and bursts over and over again in the pit of my chest. I say nothing, watching as she turns on her heels and heads towards the door, her presences leaving a feeling of uneasiness in the atmosphere.

"I'll be seeing you in the City Circle by noon, Ms. Trinket," she says, hesitating for a moment in the door way. "Don't even consider the idea of being late."

**xXx**

Despite my stay in the clinic being limited to only a few days, my legs still struggle to support my body as Haymitch and I make our way to Katniss's quarters in complete, utter silence. Every so often, I stumble forward only to have Haymitch reach forward and grasp me. However, his hold does not linger for long as pull away and continue down the hall. Angry at him. Angry at District Thirteen. And most of all, angry at myself.

"I should have told you," Haymitch finally says after the prolonged silence grows too uncomfortable. " I know and I'm sorry. But I knew this was how you would react. The man deserves an arrow through the heart if not more, if you ask me. This is the humane way of doing it. Besides, the kid needs closure."

I whip around to face him, "Closure?!"

"This man has taken everything from Katniss. Her childhood. Livelihood. Her family. Everything. She'll never recover from that. None of us will to be quite frank, the arena has a way with sticking with you. But letting her be the one to execute him? That's one step into the right direction. Wouldn't expect you to understand." He immediately pauses after uttering his last statement, realizing at once his fatal mistake. But it's too late.

"Oh, I understand completely," I say rather sharply. "You forget I was locked in a cell for six weeks tortured, and left for dead. I've suffered, Haymitch, suffered more than I think you allow yourself to admit because you blame yourself for what happened. It wasn't your fault but don't think for one second that I do not know the hell this man has caused. I just don't think murdering is the way to resolve things. When has "an eye for an eye" ever been right?"

"I never said it was but in this case-"

"Effie!" Someone calls out, stopping Haymitch in mid-sentence. "You've already been released from the ward? Oh thank Panem! I was so worried! I just went to the clinic and your bed was empty and I thought- Oh, it's such a relief to see you!"

In unison, Haymitch and I turn around only to see none other than Hazelle Hawthorne hurrying towards us with Olive nestled securely in her arms. Almost immediately, my loathing fades away as mixed relief and joy flood into its place. I nearly trip over my two feet as I go to meet her half way. Thankfully, Haymitch makes a grab for me once more and saves me from the embarrassment.

"Hi," I coo, restraining myself from snatching her rudely from Hazelle's hold. "Hello, darling. Oh I've missed you so, so much. Have you been good? Of course you have, I needn't even ever ask."

I reach out towards her, wincing slightly as my burnt arm chafes against its bandages. The medicine has nearly worn off pain-wise, but my mind and body are too exhausted and preoccupied to accept the soreness that tries to warn against my movements. Carefully, Hazelle situates Olive in the crook of my good arm and I lean against Haymitch momentarily for support, forgetting how heavy she has become in her increasing months of age.

"She's missed you," Hazelle comments as Olive offers me a two-toothed smile. "But Posy's been keeping her busy. I keep having to remind her that Olive is a baby, not a doll, but she's been very good about being gentle with her." Her eyes flicker from my face down to my gauze concealed arm. "How are you feeling?"

"I wasn't expecting to be let out today," I tell her truthfully, attempting to readjust the baby in my arms. "But President Coin visited me with some rather astonishing news." I glance over at Haymitch for a moment before returning my attention back to Olive. "We're on our way to see Katniss."

The expression on Hazelle's face quickly changes to one of sorrow. At first, I wonder if I have said something wrong. Uncertain, I look to Haymitch again who shakes his head, warning at me not to question. Though my curiosity is peaked, I decide to follow his wishes and push it out of my mind for now.

"Tell her I'm so sorry about her sister, will you?" Hazelle finally says after a long while. "She'll probably not want to hear it because of who it's coming from, but tell her Gale sends his apologizes and his love. Or, he would if he had said anything. But don't tell her that part."

Olive grows impatient in my arms so I allow Haymitch to take her. She smiles at him and swipes her drool covered hand across his mouth. He makes a face of displeasure and she gurgles, oblivious to the fact that it isn't one that is supposed to be amusing. Nevertheless, he offers her a half smile and holds her against his chest. Finding much relief in watching them interact, I turn to look at Hazelle again.

"I'll tell her," I say with a smile formed from what little happiness I have found in this day. "Thank you for watching Olive. Haymitch and I really appreciate it."

She nods but her attention seems to be drawn elsewhere. "I want to apologize also for your arm. I do hope you make a full recovery. It's hard to find joy in such a victory when such sorrow has come from it."

She steps forward and places a kiss on Olive's forehead. Then, without really saying too much, she turns away and heads in the opposite direction. I watch her quietly, both confused and worried by her lack of cheerfulness. Finally, when she is completely out of sight, I turn to face Haymitch.

"What was that-"

"Gale," Haymitch answers. "There's a rumor that he was involved in the explosion that killed Prim as well as injure your arm. Hazelle blames herself. I told her she had nothing to feel guilty about but I think she pities her son as well as mourns the Everdeen's loss."

"And Katniss?" I ask softly. "What does she think of all of this?"

A flicker of sadness seems to cross Haymitch's expression before it fades away. He looks to Olive, taking a moment to gently pry loose her tiny fingers from a shirt button that is close to following off.

"Just try not to mention anything," he tells me. "When you see her. She's not handling any of this too well, Princess."

**xXx**

I'm not quite sure what I was expecting when I entered Katniss's room, but it definitely was never the site that is now before me. At first, I don't even recognize the figure sitting slouched on the edge of the bed. Her skin is purple and blotched, hair thin and even missing in some places, and even though President Coin has made sure that out of everyone, Katniss Everdeen is the most well fed, it appears as if it has been months since she's had even the smallest of bites to eat. But when the face lifts and those gray eyes meet mine, my heart sinks.

"Oh Katniss," I nearly whimper. "Look at you."

"I thought you were still the clinic," she replies hoarsely. "How's your arm?"

"Never mind that," I whisper, walking to her side. "Look at you. If anyone should be in the clinic, it's you. Did President Coin force you to leave?"

Her eyes flicker to meet mine, "Did she make you?" I don't reply and she nods. "I'm sorry."

I shake my head, "Don't you dare apologize for anything. You've done nothing wrong." My legs feel shaking from the amount of walking I've done, so I take a seat in a nearby chair. "You don't have to do this you know. Maybe...maybe there is another way. Maybe someone else can. Maybe-"

"No," she interrupts. "I _want_ to."

It's a tone I've never heard slip from her mouth before. One of cold indifference. What have they done to her? How could Katniss, so brave and mighty, be dwindled down to this? I reach forward with my good hand and place it on her knee. She looks down at it for a moment before returning her attention to me.

"Where's Haymitch?" She finally asks.

"He's outside with the baby," I tell her. "I wasn't sure if you 'd want them here. Since you have to get ready and all and change-"

"I'll be fine," she says quietly. "Let them come in."

As if eavesdropping from outside, the door immediately creaks open and Haymitch enters the room nudging it closed with his elbow. Katniss's stare flashes immediately to the baby cradled in his arms and for a split second, I desire nothing more than to escort Olive back outside. But then the guilt sets in. There is no need to be terrified of Katniss. She has suffered more than anyone else and to even fear she would do something to harm my child is ridiculous.

"Hey Sweetheart," Haymitch addresses Katniss. "How are you holding up?"

A wry smile crosses her lips for a brief second. "Staying alive."

"You've still got as much charm as a dead slug," he smirks, walking over to join us.

"You should know."

He takes a seat beside me, securing Olive in his lap. Katniss watches her carefully, her face unreadable as she seems to study the baby's every move. Then, unexpectedly, she looks up to me and Haymitch, an almost strange sort of desire burning in her eyes.

"May I?"

At first, I do not understand what she means. But then, when I watch in almost shock as Haymitch hands Olive over to the scarred hands of Katniss, I realize she wants to see the baby. I inhale deeply, trying to hide my undeserving nervousness as she holds my daughter close to her person.

"She's beautiful," she says after a long moment. "She has your lips, Effie."

I cannot help but smile. "Thank you," I say. "Usually I get that she looks like Haymitch."

"The eyes maybe," she mumbles. "But the hair and lips are definitely you."

She falls silent a moment, eyes fixated on Olive as she reaches up and grasps a lock of Katniss's hair. I lean forward to intervene but Haymitch places his arm on my shoulder to stop me. Exhaling, I settled back in my chair and watch. For the first time since our visit, a light appears in Katniss's eyes that I've never seen before. Not when she won the Hunger Games the first time. Not when Peeta proposed during Caesar's interview. But a look of pure, undeniable happiness-almost acceptance. She looks up, her eyes glossy as if she's holding back tears.

"You take care of her," she says to me. "When you get back to District Twelve, you make sure she's happy. Don't let her go through what we all have. Just make sure she stays safe."

It's an odd request at this moment, but I nod my head. "Of course," I promise her. "I would never dream of anything different." I look to Haymitch for answers but he's watching Katniss intently. Almost as if he is waiting for something bad to happen. "And you and Peeta will be there too. I know she will love to visit you both when she's older."

A bell sounds off in the distance. One that we used annually to announce the upcoming Hunger Games. Now it tolls not for the year's tributes, but for the summoning of those to witness the death of President Snow. I look back to Katniss, my heart aching even more for her now. Gingerly, she hands Olive back to Haymitch before her eyes meet mine.

"Come on, Effie. Smile," she says, her tone void of any true joy. "It's going to be a big, big day."

**xXx**

The wind howls loudly as it sweeps across my winter jacket. Though hundreds of people have filed into the streets, never has it been so quiet. I'm pressed against Haymitch, our view to the large, wooden post that has been situated in the center of the City Circle is unobstructed. And I'm thankfully Olive is back inside with Hazelle, protected from what Haymitch and I are about to witness.

"You can go back inside," Haymitch offers. "You don't have to see this."

"I don't want to be here," I tell him through chattering teeth. "But I am for Katniss. That's the only reason."

I feel something brush against the fingers of my good hand. Looking down, I see to my surprise it's Haymitch's fingers. Swallowing hard, I lace mine with his own, looking towards the makeshift stage as two District Thirteen guards escort President Snow onto the platform. I inhale sharply, tightening my grip on his hand. He lets me, not pulling away as President Coin makes her own appearance.

"Citizens of Panem," she proclaims. "I will not hold you from your activities for long. But I will welcome you to a new era. One of freedom. One of liberty. One where your children can live in peace and not suffer at the hands of those "more fortunate". Together, we can begin a new dawn."

No one claps as Katniss is ushered onto a smaller, but similar platform to President Snow's. A figure approaches her, holding out a bow and a single arrow. She takes them quietly, positioning them calmly as if she were just merely out hunting in the woods. President Coin waits in silence, her eyes fixed on Katniss like a hawk until she is sure the teenager is done. Then she inhales, readying to call out the commands, when an arrow pierces her neck.

***Silently curses self* Okay, so since this was turning out to be much longer than I would have liked it to be, I split it into parts. This means that the second part (which may be much shorter than a regular chapter length, but by much) will be hopefully uploaded at the end of this week or the beginning of the next after I finish it. Then I have one more chapter and the epilogue (in a way, it's more like two epilogues as one takes place like six months later and the next takes place three years later, but I digress). But yes, I already have part of the next segment of this chapter written because I did end up splitting it, but I did not wish to make you folks wait any longer to read something. **

**Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! I promise things will start turning more happy and Hayffie fluffy in the upcoming parts (especially in the last chapter and epilogue). I best be off and upload this. My best friend is standing over my shoulder awaiting a ride back to her apartment. Happy post-Catching Fire movie release week! And Thanksgiving as well! -Jen**


	42. Homeward Bound (Part Two)

Once** again, I am left in awe over what a wonderful group of readers this story has procured. So with all the thanks I can possibly muster in writing, a warm wave of gratitude to Kat-Knife, Deadlyrose70, HogwartsDreamer113, SassMonster, HannahKellogg1, All For Jesus, moonlight goose, Savysnape7, Cometas Por El Cielo, KlarolineMyMokingjay, My Beautiful Ending, homicidalhufflepuffs, Bluestarisawesome, gramwaitforitpola, Anastasia The Goddess of Drama, CrazyFangirl, mac-reye, Caro, Guest, ShortySC22, accio-divergent-mockingjays, Rissa, Toxic Nightmare99, Ron, meantimegirl, DrGiggles, AliceInLa-La-Land1215, and CloveLudwig99 **your kind and, I can never say it enough, overwhelmingly inspiring feedback messages left for last chapter. And just a huge thank you to those who have favorited and followed this story as well. Seriously, I don't think you understand how pathetically happy you all make me. This week has been difficult (I was in a car accident (I'm completely fine) that wasn't my fault, but I am temporarily without a car until further notice from the body shop). But just having this outlet of being able to just go and write when I'm stressed and knowing people enjoy it is the best medicine in the world. So, I'm sure you're fed up with me saying this, but thank you so much again. Alright, enough chit-chat, here is the next chapter! **  
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Chapter thirty eight: Homeward Bound (Part Two)

At first, there is absolute silence. Every person standing in the City Circle remains completely still as if time itself has been frozen by some unknown force. My own eyes watch President Coin, a feeling of numbness overcoming me as she stands straight, body rigid as her mouth opens just the slightest in surprise. Then, without warning, she crumples forward, her fall bringing with it a wave of hysteria as the crowd finally snaps out of their haze.

I'm shoved forward, my hand forcefully yanked from Haymitch's as people push to and fro trying to escape from an unnamed enemy. The event has turned into complete and utter chaos. I shrink into myself, lost and confused as the sounds of terrified screams and shouts of order come in every direction. Blurs of clothing, colors both in grays and the occasional splash of other shades, flood past me as I look around desperately for the man I came here with. It's then that someone grabs me hard by my good arm, pulling me back towards them. Haymitch.

"Go," he yells to me, his nose bruised and dribbling with blood as if he's been punched. "Get to the Training Center! I'll come and find you. I promise!"

"Come with me," I plead, my head spinning as I try to comprehend all that did and is happening. "Don't leave me alone!"

Someone slams in between us and Haymitch's hand drops from my person. I'm being pressed back now, the crowds of people moving me against my will. I can only watch in distress as Haymitch maneuvers through the clusters of individuals, disappearing almost instantly from my sight. Frightened and confused, I let the flow of traffic carry me until I am out of the mayhem and standing in what little clearing is left in the rampage. It's then, once I am able to finally get some prospective of my surroundings, do I realize that he is heading in the direction of the platform where President Coin has fallen and President Snow still stands tethered. He's going for Katniss.

With the initial shock wearing off, I move numbly through the street in search of the correct building. In my head, the death of President Coin replays over and over again like a musical record on repeat. Had Katniss meant to murder her instead of President Snow? Would she have killed without so much as a blink of an eye? The unanswered questions swirl around in my mind as I push through the revolving doors of the building and make my way inside. The lobby is completely deserted as I shuffle to the elevator and press the button labeled 'up'. It opens almost instantly, offering a light-less space that I step into before the doors slide shut.

The machine hums softly as it slips effortlessly up the elevator shaft. For the first time since waking up in the clinic, I have a moment to myself. An unsuppressed sigh escapes from my lips and I lean heavily against the frame of the glass cube. How long has it been since I've been here? Several weeks? A few months? I allow my eyes to close for just a second, trying to push the thoughts out of my brain as the door clicks gently and reopens.

I am not the woman that I was as I step out into the level of the Training Center I spent countless weeks each year in during the Hunger Games. And as my eyes scan the area, it's as if the room hasn't been even touched since my last visit during the Quarter Quell. Same half-moon couch in front of the large, flat screen television. Identical fireplace completely with a dining table adjacent to its mantel. I take a seat, staring blankly at the screen as if some part of me expects Caesar Flickerman to appear with his wide smile and barking laughter. But nothing, as it shouldn't, happens.

And in that moment an unexplained rage fills me. Without truly thinking, I grab one of the decorative ceramic orbs resting in a bowl on the table and throw it with all my might at the screen. It falls short from hitting it by a good few feet. I try again. And again. And again. Until finally one manages to knock against the side frame of the device before dropping to the ground with a loud thunk. An animal-like shriek sounds, echoing against the walls of the room. At first, I am terrified, uncertain of what is making this terrible sound. It's only when my own throat begins to ache does the chill of realization crawl up my spine. It's me. I'm screaming.

"Are you happy?!" I call out to the nothing. "Are you?! Look at what I have become! Look at what we all have! Suffering and losing so much! So much..."

My words are lost in a choked sob and I collapse to my knees, feeling the emotion burn from the center of my throat all the way into the pit of my chest. I have finally broken. Messily. Cowardly. The stress and pressure finally snapping the last strings of my sanity. Prim. Portia. Cinna. What had their deaths been for? What had they done to deserve this end?

"This...was my home," are the words that leave my mouth. "I loved you. Revered you. And it was all an allusion. A lie. Everything I did! Everything I thought was showing allegiance for the Capitol only hurt the ones I cared about!"

My body trembles, fingers unpleasantly clammy from perspiration as a sorrowful laugh escapes from my mouth. A sound that frightens me even though I had created it. I lift my head, eyes fixed forward as my lips twitch into smile. It's as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. As if I'm finally free. I inhale shakily, feeling a power surge through me that I have never felt before.

"But your reign of terror is over now. Peace has found Panem and you can never hurt anyone ever again. My daughter will grow up safe and happy and will never have to live through what so many children did for years. And for that, I am grateful. May the odds be ever in our favor as they will never be in yours again."

I slump forward, the adrenaline rush having finally run its course. My arm aches from the excess motion it was just forced through and my body sympathizes with its own discomfort. But I no longer feel scared. Nor worried. Nor resentful. Hateful. For I, Effie Trinket, have finally come to terms with everything. Cut loose my remaining strings holding my life to the Capitol. Or perhaps I have just lost my mind. That after all I have witnessed I have finally gone over the rainbow. Lost my marbles. Left my sanity in a friend's coat pocket. But whatever the case, insanity or an epiphany, I can finally start over. I can finally be happy. There is no need to pretend anymore. Exhaustion hugs me like a warm blanket and I settle back down against the front of the sofa, knowing deep down it will be my very last time in doing so here.

**xXx**

Someone touches my shoulder and within seconds, I am pulled from the slumber that I had not realized I had fallen into. Blinking tiredly, I look forward to see Haymitch kneeling in front of me on the ground, dried blood crusted under his nose and top lip as he watches me with a concerned expression. I smile softly, slightly disoriented but relieved to see him nevertheless.

"Are you alright?" His voice is louder than I had anticipated and unintentionally I flinch. "I've been calling your name for about twenty damn minutes. Then I come in here and find you passed out on the floor like something had happened to you. I thought..." his tone sounds worried for a moment before he quickly masks it. "What the hell were you doing sleeping on the floor? And what is with all these glass balls? I almost broke my neck tripping over one walking in here."

I don't answer him. Instead, I fling my arms around his neck holding myself close to his chest. Perhaps it was melodramatic, but I am far from caring about my actions at this point. He doesn't push me away but rather awkwardly both pats and rubs my back in what I can only assume is meant to be a comforting gesture.

"We're going to be okay now," I tell him. "This is all over. We can finally be happy. We can be a family and go back home, just like we said we would."

Haymitch's lack of a response causes the brief moment of rejoicing to quickly transform into one of uncertainty. I glance at him, hoping to catch some look in his expression to tell me something positive. None appears and a dread in my heart slowly forms.

"How long will it take you to pack?" He asks, pulling me away so that we are a shoulder width apart. "Today, I mean. How long do you think it would take?"

"I...I don't know," I whisper. "Maybe...maybe an hour? Less if I only bring the essentials?" The old Effie wouldn't have said that. How much I have truly changed. "Why? How come?"

"I talked to Plutarch," he says. "And I think I convinced him to let one hovercraft worth of people return to District Twelve today. He said that it would have to be before night fell and that it'd have to be kept under wraps because we can't afford to send everyone home just yet. Not after what happened today."

"Well, that's a good thing right?" I ask. "Of course it is, why do I even ask. This is wonderful! Just absolutely... So we'll get to go home today?"

"No, Princess," Haymitch corrects. "You and the baby will. Not me."

It's as if a ton of bricks hits me without any warning. My stomach sinks, nausea quickly bubbling up in its place. I look to Haymitch, waiting for him to make some snide remark that he didn't expect me to be that desperate for him company. That he was just trying to get a rise out of me and of course he's coming. Of course he doesn't expect me to return to District Twelve alone with our child. Of course he wouldn't do that to me. But he says nothing of the sort.

"Why?" I whisper, confusion laced my tone. "What...what do you mean you won't be going? I don't understand, Haymitch. The war is over. You even said-"

"Katniss killed Coin without any probable cause," Haymitch interrupts. "It doesn't matter who she is. The Mockingjay. A victor. Murder is considered murder. And no matter what I do. No matter how I interject, she's going to be treated like a criminal until all of this damn mess is figured out."

"So what's going to happen to her?" I swallow, suddenly feeling guilty for wishes to put my own intentions over the girl who has already done so much for everyone else. "They aren't going to-"

"No," he shakes his head. "I may not be in complete control of this situation, but I sure as hell will make sure that having Katniss executed isn't an option in punishment. At most, we may be looking at a plea of insanity. But I won't know for sure until the trial has started. And that in itself, could take weeks, maybe even months on end."

"Then I will stay too," I interject. "I can testify on Katniss's behalf! I never even liked President Coin anyway. She was absolutely horrid. I'm sure whatever reason Katniss had for murdering her was valid. At least, in her eyes it was. I don't agree with killing anyone, but I do trust Katniss's logic even if I do not uphold the same formalities as her."

"Effie, this trial could last awhile," Haymitch explains. "And it's something even I would rather avoid than be involved in, but I owe this to Katniss. I'm not going to let anything happen to her. But I also need to think of my own family in this situation and the best place for you and the baby would be back in District Twelve. Away from all of this shit. You and I, we've been through hell and back. At least one of us deserves a vacation from it so I'm giving the position to you." He looks into my eyes, his expression grave. "Go home. Take Olive away from this place. If not for yourself, do it for her sake. And when all of this is over, we can finally start over. Forget all of this. I swear."

I didn't want to leave Haymitch. The thought of returning to the Victor's Village alone with our daughter was not one of my more pleasant considerations. But he made a valid argument, one of which included the idea of what was best for Olive. And though I did not wish for us to be separated again. That if one of us had to stay, the other should as well, I cannot help but think of the baby under the vigilant eyes of Hazelle waiting for our return. Of what is best for her. What her needs are instead of my own. A sigh of defeat escapes my lips and I give a single nod.

"Okay," I say. "Okay, I'll take her home."

**xXx**

The sun is beginning to set over the horizon when fifteen of us make our way to the landing deck on top of the large, concrete building. Its remaining rays of light reflect off the gleaming metal of the hovercraft causing discomfort for the few who had been directly looking at it. I take a moment to readjust the blanket that currently serves as a cocoon for Olive in this frigid weather. She watches me from her carrier as I do so, her tiny nose and cheeks a rosy pink from the icy wind.

"I know," I croon. "It'll be much warmer in the hovercraft. The temperatures out here are ridiculous."

Everything has just happened so fast. The death of Coin. The first hovercraft of civilians allowed back to District Twelve. Even I could have never created a schedule that had events move so vigorously as this day has. Straightening back up, I lift the carrier with my good arm and look behind me to see Haymitch making his way over with our luggage.

"You need to take care of your arm," he tells me as he sets the bags down. "Make sure it doesn't get infected. I had the clinic package some medication for you in case it gets bad enough you feel like you need something."

"Thank you," I tell him. "Really, Haymitch. I appreciate it."

"Yeah," he says, wincing momentarily as he cracks his back. "Wasn't a problem. Look, Victor's Village was about the only thing that was left standing in Twelve since the Capitol got to it. Repairs have been going on for a little while, but there is still a lot of work to be done. Just...be careful. Don't go falling into any holes or nothing if you decide to go prancing around, alright?"

Silence falls between us for a moment. It's then that I really notice the expression on Haymitch's face. It's a look I have never seen him have before. Intense. Hesitant. As if he wants to say something he isn't sure how to. Butterflies begin to flutter in the pit of my stomach, a sense of nervousness coming over me that isn't necessarily a bad one.

"There is a container of dehydrated food packages in one of the bags," he finally says. "Not the tasty meals, but it'll have to do until I can get Plutarch to send out a decent amount of supplies. Should get you through a week, maybe two. But I'm sure you'll have something more palatable much sooner than that."

"Lovely," I say, trying to mask my hatred for the dried cuisine. "I'm sure I can make do with these for the time being."

His gaze suddenly shifts to Olive and, for a moment, it's as if nothing else exists in the world. As if he fears that if he looks away for a split second, she will have grown up right under his nose. Then slowly, his lips form a half smile and he kneels down in front of her carrier.

"Hey, Half Pint," he mumbles. "Looks like this is gonna be it for awhile." She gives him a smile, her features crinkling as a gurgle escapes from her mouth. "Yeah, I know. I'm gonna miss you too. But I'll be home soon," he pauses, his eyes flashing up to meet mine. "Listen kid, be good for your mom, alright? Don't go giving her too much trouble until I can come home and help you."

"You'll call," I tell him as he stands up again. "Every day, you'll call me. If I don't answer the first time, you keep calling until I do. I don't care how late it is or how early, promise me you'll call."

He nods, "I will."

"And you'll get this unnecessary trial taken care of and bring Katniss home," I inhale, my voice beginning to break. "Promise me."

He nods again, "I will."

An announcement from the hovercraft blares overhead that takeoff will begin shortly. I look to Haymitch, the tears beginning to stream down my cheeks. This is not goodbye forever. No matter how sorrowful it felt, we would meet again. I begin to turn away when something brushes against my cheek. My attention diverts and I see that it's Haymitch's hand. He's looking at me, his lips pressed firmly shut as if he struggles to hold whatever he truly wants to say in. Then, without any warning, he leans forwards and presses a chaste kiss to my mouth. My eyes close, the butterflies in my stomach fluttering away all at once as a feeling of warmth floods into their place.

"Be safe," he tells me. "Promise me."

I want to tell him that I loved him. So terribly much it was wrong. And yet, so right. That I didn't care how sappy or cliched it sounded, but I wanted to hear him say the words too. That in that moment, nothing else really mattered. That even though we both knew the truth, neither of us had ever been very vocal about it. That now was a better than ever to proclaim just a statement. Yet, I don't say those words. I don't even hint at them in the slightest. Instead, I just peer into his eyes and nod.

"I will."

The announcement sounds once more and Haymitch exhales. Without a comment, he lifts up my luggage and begins to carry it towards the hovercraft. I trail at his heels, Olive carefully buckled into her carrier as we make our way to the aircraft. I watch as he hands my bags to a person in uniform before turning back to me.

"See you soon," he says. "I'll call in a few hours to make sure you landed there in one piece."

When I step into the hovercraft with Olive, the doors immediately close behind me. The thirteen other passengers, some with familiar faces and others complete strangers, look just as uncertain as I feel. I'm ushered into an empty seat by the pilot and, after accommodations are made to secure the baby carrier beside me, do I finally buckle myself in.

As the engines of the craft begin to tremble to life, I shift just slightly so I can watch out the window. It's then that my eyes land on Haymitch-who appears so small from up here-and to the shape his fingers make as he lifts them into the air. It's a symbol I recognize so well. One I have seen Katniss make numerous times since our first meeting nearly two years ago. The sign of District Twelve. My own fingers quickly form to make the gesture and I press it to the circular glass in the hopes he will notice.

Then, slowly at first, the hovercraft begins to rise from the ground. My eyes stay fixed on Haymitch, watching as he grows smaller and smaller the higher we rise. Finally, when we reach a certain point, the aircraft seems to hesitate in mid-air for a split second. The atmosphere in the interior intensifies. Those who have never been on a hovercraft murmur quietly in curiosity if the machine has broken. But almost immediately after the pause, the aircraft begins to regain motion. Faster and faster, the lights of the runway become less and less noticeable until there is nothing but night sky and clouds surrounding us. Swallowing thickly, I turn back into the proper position of my seat, a feeling of relief, sorrow, and realization all colliding in my mind at once. My eyes flicker to Olive, who by now has managed to find sleep among the excitement, and my lips curve into an undeniable, genuine smile.

Finally, I am going home.

**I know this chapter had a lot going on so I'll explain a few things. I did some research as to where Snow's "execution" was held and it did happen to be at the Capitol. Then I was trying to see a comparison to where the Capitol was in relation to District Thirteen and there were many variations that were similar and yet very different. So, I guess that's all fair game (I also like to think transportation is quite fast in this world so that's how people got places relatively soon at some points). But I digress. I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Effie's break down was interesting to write and as to if she was yelling at Snow, the Capitol in general, or life, that is up to you, the reader. I had some friends read that part who all had different opinions and I thought that was really interesting. **

**My best friend also said my story could stand to use some more romance so I thought having a kiss would add the perfect amount of appropriate fluff for that moment. If you were hoping for an "I love you" that will be coming up very soon. I promise. Anyway, feedback is greatly loved, appreciated, and every review makes me grin like a mad man. There is one chapter plus the epilogue left so this story is slowly winding down to a close. However, that does not mean there will be any less attention-grabbing. Just wait until you see what I have planned for the next chapter and the epilogue! Until next chapter! -Jen**


	43. The Return

**A tidal wave of thanks to Minerva-Amantine, PhoebeLovesSouffle, Deadlyrose70, HogwartsDreamer113, SassMonster, Anastasia The Goddess of Drama, homicidalhufflepuffs, ShortySC22, Bluestarisawesome, Savysnape7, mac-reye, KlarolineMyMokingjay, sue92178, Caro, Guest, MiniMischl, Kat-Knife, meantimegirl, AliceInLa-La-Land1215, HannahKellogg1, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, Paw Print Pajamas, My Beautiful Ending, Kat, CloveLudwig99, Iani, TazzieLuv13, gramwaitforitpola, and Gdreams for your wonderful feedback left for last chapter! Alrighty, without any more prolongation, here is the next chapter! (Oh yes, a few author's notes ago, I said this chapter would take place six months later? I changed it to six weeks because that seemed more reasonable).**

Chapter thirty nine: The Return

It's as if I have been lost in a dream. Caught in an enchanted world that really has no passage of leave nor desire to even do so. Since our arrival back to District Twelve, all seems surreal. There is no more violence—at least, none that I can see past Victor's Village. No President Coin nor Snow. No yelling. War. Death. And as the weeks wear on, I find myself involved in a sort of fantasy in my very own home. One that I did not ever expect myself to have wanted.

My days are spent cleaning surprisingly what little dust and ash have gathered on the furniture. Arranging and rearranging each room in the house just to pass the time. Caring for Olive who seems to grow so much every day, it's almost terrifying to even consider the thought that in no time, she'll be talking. Walking even. And as more and more people are allowed back into the District, we tend to keep to ourselves. Going outside only when needed. Visiting neighbors when the gesture of politeness is required. We wait together in solitude, counting down the days until Haymitch arrives home. Until one early morning, a knock sounds from the front door, an occurrence that is not particularly common this hour in the day.

I glance over at Olive who watches me from where she sits propped up on the couch. For a moment, I wonder if I am just hearing things. That perhaps it was nearly the wind knocking a branch against the architecture's siding. Or someone in a nearby home preparing lumber for the fireplace. But it comes again. Loud and yet, nonthreatening. As if whoever is on the other side is unsure if we heard them the first time.

"Now who do you suppose that could be?" I inquire, lifting Olive up before making my way over to the front door. "A bit early for a visitor, I do hope nothing is the matter."

It takes some maneuvering to shift Olive from both arms into one as I reach for the doorknob with my free hand. With a flick of my wrist, it clicks in compliance and slowly opens, revealing a figure that causes my breath to hitch in my throat. Scarred and far too thin to even be considered near a healthy weight, Peeta Mellark stands at the threshold seeming to focus all of his body mass on his real leg rather than the prostheses.

"Peeta?"

His chapped lips curve into a half smile as he looks at me with a weary expression. "Good morning, Effie," he greets. "I didn't wake you did I?"

"No, no. Of course not," I say shaking my head, still in awe that he's standing here. "When did you—"

"Today," he finishes. "Dr. Aurelius didn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday. I got here this morning. The hovercraft dropped me off."

So many questions swarm in my mind that it takes nearly all of my willpower not to bombard Peeta—who looks as if he could collapse at any given moment—with them. Offering him a flustered smile, I sidestep to allow him to enter the house. The poor boy probably hasn't had anything to eat for hours. The least I could do is show him some hospitality.

"Come in," I tell him. "We were just about to have breakfast. Why don't you join us?"

Peeta takes a seat at the round table in the kitchen. After a nonverbal agreement of having him hold Olive while I cook, I set off to locate a pan as well as a few eggs that were delivered to me by one of our neighbors a few days ago. Never being quite the chef myself, I am forced to eyeball the food as it sizzles in the skillet, hoping that I don't butcher the meal too much for his palate. After a good few minutes—which result in some rather brown looking scrambled eggs—I separate the cuisine onto three plates, placing one in front of Peeta before retrieving Olive and having a seat myself.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, embarrassed as Peeta eyes the dish. "I've never been much of a cook myself. I've always been able to rely on other people to do it for me until now."

"No," Peeta says looking up with a small smile. "It's great. Really, Effie, thank you."

We begin to eat in silence at first. Occasionally, Olive attempts to reach forward from my lap for Peeta's food and I have to gently deny her of that task. However, he seems slightly amused by her efforts and even offers her a taste from his plate despite the fact that all three are exactly the same. It's only after we've all mostly finished our food—and Olive's tiny fists are covered in crumbles of egg yolk—that I finally decide it's appropriate to bring up my varying questions to Peeta.

"It's been so long," I begin, wiping at the baby's hands with a napkin. "How have you been managing, Peeta? Haymitch isn't that great of an informant most of the time. But I shouldn't really expect much from him in that department anyway."

Peeta seems to focus on his empty plate for a moment. "Some days are easier than others," he admits quietly, pushing at the dish with his index finger. "But I'm hanging in there. Dr. Aurelius helped through a lot of it. Mostly with my mind. Guess if I were any worse off I wouldn't be here," he smile seems more along the lines of a grimace. "I'm just glad to be home, I guess."

"We're happy you're home as well," I inform him. "Aren't we, Olive?"

Peeta's gaze drifts towards her momentarily and his expression seems to lighten. "She's gotten big," he comments. "I've really only scene pictures. Haymitch showed me the one of her in the hospital while I was in recovery for…" he pauses. "How old is she now?"

"A week over six months," I say, counting in my head to make absolutely sure. "We just started her on solids. Eggs mostly. She seems to like those just fine. At least, she tolerates them."

"That's good," Peeta nods. "I think eggs were one of my first foods too. That or sponge bread. I'll have to make her some once I get settled in. It'll be nice to bake again." He inhales deeply before returning his attention to me. "I'm assuming you're looking forward to have Haymitch home today?"

The question first catches me off guard and I can only imagine how ridiculous my face must appear as I eye Peeta in absolute confusion. Had he misspoken? What had he meant by saying Haymitch was coming home today? Surely it was a mistaken. I was not made aware by any journey home on his part in any of our previous conversations.

"But Katniss's trial," I mumble, talking more to myself than to Peeta. "It's still going on. It's—"

"Over," Peeta says. "It ended late last night. Formally closed. In actuality, it was technically over a few days ago, there were just a few legal issues that had to be taken care of. Both Dr. Aurelius and the judge gave Haymitch the thumbs up to bring Katniss home to Twelve. As long as she remains under the care of Dr. Aurelius and the vigilant watch of the three of us, she's free."

At first, I am unsure if I am more angry, shocked, or excited by this news. Mostly, I think I am annoyed by the fact it's Peeta telling me this rather than Haymitch himself. Why he always lacks in informing me of important dates, I will never know. One thing is for certain, despite no longer being an escort, I will be sure to keep schedules around the house. At least one of us will have to hold some responsibility over the duties involving our child's appointments.

"I spoke to Haymitch last night," I explain to Peeta. "And not once did he even bother to mention any of this."

"He couldn't," Peeta replies. "There was some strict confidentiality going on until the case ended. I'm sure he thought about calling you this morning, he was probably just overwhelmed with getting Katniss ready to go. There was a reason why you were in charge of everything during the Hunger Games."

"Because Haymitch is an incompetent fool," I frown before looking to Olive and quickly adding. "But I suppose he means well. As much as he can."

Peeta nods thoughtfully, absentmindedly pushing his plate slowly around with his fingers. "I left last night not too long after the verdict was finally reached," he inhales, seeming to think for a moment. "I know Katniss and Haymitch were allowed to leave early this morning but as to what time, I'm not sure. I think they should be home by the evening. But I wouldn't hold me to that. Again, my memory isn't like it once was."

It's a crude attempt at humor towards himself and I try not to let it bother me. Everyone has changed so much since the rebellion. And Peeta's attitude is just one of many sickening reminders of what the Capitol had done to its people. Nevertheless, I offer him a soft smile, shaking my head in response.

"Never mind that," I assure him. "You yourself said you're improving. I'm sure your thought process will be better in no time." But deep down, we both know that none of us will ever resemble who we once were. No matter how many years pass. We all bore our own scars, visible and not. Exhaling, I shift Olive on my lap. "I've missed him," I comment. "Haymitch. It's strange. Just months ago, I couldn't even stand to be in his general vicinity and now..."

"No," Peeta agrees. "I understand. Feelings can change so fast. One moment you think you know what you feel and the next…" He stops, his eyes closing for a moment as his fingers begin to massage his temples.

"Peeta?" I venture, suddenly growing worried. "Peeta, are you—"

"I'm fine," he cuts in, voice sounding strained. "I just need quiet. That's all."

So we fall silent, giving Peeta a moment to recollect himself. His breathing grows ragged a few times, his body trembling as if he could burst from his own skin and into a creature of horror at any given moment. Yet slowly, he comes to, shaking and clammy, his eyes reopen to an even more exhausted looking boy than the one who had entered my home.

"Water," he croaks. "I just need..."

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. Instantly I am up, Olive held against my shoulder as I look in desperation for a glass among the dinnerware in the cabinet. Finally, coming across a mug, I fill it with water from the sink and hand it quickly to Peeta. He snatches it and begins to gulp down large mouthfuls of the liquid. When it's drained, he sets it down on the table, looking haggard and faint.

"I'm sorry," he manages to say. "My episodes are…unpredictable. This one thankfully wasn't the worst of them though. I hope I didn't scare her," his eyes flicker to Olive. "Or you."

"We're both fine," I assure him, finding it almost sickeningly humorous that he is more concerned in our benefit than his own. "Is there anything I can do for you? Have you any medicine or…"

He shakes his head, "Just have to fight through it mostly." And I watch as he inhales, his expression flickering briefly to one of pain before his features relax. "I'm getting better at it though. The sparks of memory. Sometimes, even when it's really bad, I can pinpoint what is real and what is not," his eyes fall to the empty glass. "Still doesn't do much though. But it's something."

Momentarily, we both fall silent; unsure of what else needs to be said or whose turn it is to speak. It's only when Olive's babbling interrupts the pause in conversation that the unsaid tension seems to lift from the atmosphere. Peeta's haggard expression turns to one of slight serenity as we both look on to the baby's amusement brought on by an unseen force.

"Do you think she'll remember any of this?" I whisper, smoothing down the wisps of hair on top of her head. "I worry. As ridiculous as it may seem, sometimes the thought keeps me up at night. She was born into a cruel world and I fear that even though all is well now, the memories…"

"She won't," Peeta looks to me and I cannot help but notice his smile is almost sad. "She won't remember a thing. The war. District Thirteen. She'll grow up in a happier society. Soon, the mere idea that there were ever such things as the Hunger Games or laws forbidding anyone from leaving their Districts will seem like a fairytale. Unbelievable. And I, Katniss, Haymitch, and all of the other Victors will become a distant memory. Warriors of a previous time. Unrecalled and only remembered briefly from what the history will read."

And as I gaze at Peeta, sorrow swells in my heart. The once witty, kind boy I met two years ago has transformed into a man I do not even recognize. He, as I was, has been broken. It will not matter how much mending and repairs are made to his person, the innocence that was previously there has disappeared forever. But that is unimportant to him. Everything he went through. The detest he surely must hold for the Capitol. None of that matters. Ultimately, deep down, his fears trickle down into one idea he has not verbally voiced. Being forgotten.

I shake my head, "No, what happened to you. To all of us. We can never forget. It simply cannot happen. Your stories will be passed from generation to generation so this monstrosity will never happen again. If not, history will repeat itself and no one desires for that to happen."

"You always had a way with optimism, Effie," Peeta says. "I'm glad to see that never left."

When I open my mouth to reply, I am interrupted by the soft chimes of the old grandfather clock in the corner. I count each sound in my head, all the way up until noon. Have we really been talking for hours? Olive wriggles impatiently from where she sits against me, grunting in warning that soon her pleasant attitude could turn from one of glee to tears. I bounce her lightly, moving her to my arms as the idea of napping seems to grow more in her favor than any other activity.

"I should go," Peeta says as he rises from his chair. "I need to go out into the woods. There's something I want to do for Katniss before she arrives home."

I stand as well, Olive watching Peeta with heavy lidded eyes. He smiles softly at her, reaching forward with a scarred hand to touch her forehead. She gives him an open mouth smile, evidently enjoying his company. And I know, even though she has not known him for very long, she will love him very much just as I do.

"You are welcome in this home anytime, Peeta," I inform him as we make our way to the door. "Our house is yours. You and Katniss...you've always been like children to Haymitch and me. And though he's not one to show any type of affection, he would agree."

Peeta leans in the door frame, his hand resting on the doorknob. "Once a team, always a team." He seems to smirk at the soppiness of his own words as he turns his attention to me. "I'll visit again soon, Effie. You and Olive take care of Haymitch for me. Panem knows someone has to."

He leaves without another word and I am left watching from a far as he limps away, growing smaller and smaller until he completely disappears from my path of vision. Olive yawns quietly in my arms and my attention draws away from the window and to the tired baby. Carefully, I make my way into the living room, gently taking a seat on the old, stained couch that despite its ugliness has earned a spot in my heart.

Has my life really come to this moment? Sometimes it seems as if only seconds before I was Effie Trinket, the District Twelve escort who lived in the Capitol with all the luxury in the world. Then to the Effie Trinket who awoke unplanned in her tributes' mentor's bed. To Effie whose world slowly left its orbit around her and began its mark to the tiny being growing inside. Effie the naive. Effie the prisoner. Effie the mother. Effie the rebel. And Effie of District Twelve. So many titles in such a short amount of time.

Sometimes the thoughts of what brought me to this point in my life are painful. Unforgivable. And others of stupidity are just as undesirable. But when I look down at the baby asleep in my arms. At how something so perfect could exist from events of such misery, all seems worth it. I would give it all up again for her. The fame. The glory. The glamour. It's truly both fantastic and terrifying what the love of another being wills a person to do.

Time seems nonexistent as I find myself watching her sleep. Afraid that if I look away for one second, she'll be all grown by the next. It's a silly thought that comes to mind when only weeks before I had to mostly be concerned with if I would survive the next day. If Haymitch would. Now that the true concerns are over, the little worries can plague my mind.

The clock goes off once more, tearing me from my daydreaming as the sound of footsteps, quiet at first, seem to grow heavier the closer they come to the house. My heart pounds quickly in my chest, my stomach fluttering foolishly as I gaze intently at the doorknob, watching the bronze orb twist as someone turns its other half on the opposite side. It opens almost painfully slow, sliding open until the man on the other side is in full view.

He looks to me with a smirk I know so well, exhaustion shadowing his face as he steps over the mantel tracking dirt in that I will worry about later. I get up from my spot on the couch, Olive tucked away safely in my arms as I move in absolute silence towards him. We stand face to face, neither of us saying anything as we study each other.

"You're late," I inform him very a-matter-of-factly.

"My flight was delayed," he counters. "Sorry to keep her royal highness waiting. Next time I'll phone in my tardiness details."

At that moment, the wall of intensity falls. Haymitch looks to me with a grin, a sort of joy I have never seen present on his face before. My heart begins to swell once more-only this time, the feeling is good. Of pure, undiluted happiness. Our eyes lock, emotion swimming between us that no words are needed to confirm.

"Welcome home, Haymitch," I tell him. "Welcome home."

His arm snakes around my waist and I lean into him, staring at our home with an entirely new set of eyes. A brand new light. Another meaning. The final chapter to my previous life ends. But in its place, a new story is only just beginning.

My name is Effie Trinket and I am home.

**I'm sitting at my computer teary-eyed right now. I can't believe I just have the epilogue left. Nearly two years later and this is where this story has gone. And of course, it wouldn't be anywhere without you fabulous readers. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Only the epilogue (which I have so much planned for) is left to go before "Of Perfume, Liquor, and Baby Bottles" is finally complete. Hard to believe right? **

**Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated. It would mean so much to me if you could take a moment of your time to review. I would love to know your thoughts so far and if you are looking forward to the epilogue. Even a few words would be the greatest thing. Oooh also, before I forget! I have had several questions about my plans for doing a sequel and at the moment, I am very indecisive. But I will let you know the final decision in the last author's note of the epilogue however. To help me reach a verdict, if you could also take a moment to visit the poll on my author's page that involves the question of possibly doing a sequel and vote, I will forever be in your debt. Anyway, only one chapter to go guys! Until next update! -Jen**


	44. Epilogue

**It is with both a happy and heavy heart that I sit here to write the final feedback thank you note of this story. Gdreams, Lizzle96, ErinAbernathy, KlarolineMyMokingjay, Guest, Minerva-Amantine, All For Jesus, MiniMischl, blueskyblues, allonsysilvertongue, Kat, lii-mao, mac-reye, Duchesslolaxo, MioneSevShipper, Iani, homicidalhufflepuffs, SassMonster, TazzieLuv13, Rissa, Bluestarisawesome, moonlight goose, Deadlyrose70, My Beautiful Ending, Morzan's Elvish Daughter, Savysnape7, RonaldGarcia91, rubandepluie, Caro, HogwartsDreamer113, HannahKellogg1, Anastasia The Goddess of Drama, meantimegirl, ShortySC22, Kat-Knife, Right Hand Blue, Skye, PLEASE READ, Sara, DrGiggles, TheBlondeAvenger, PotatoMaddie, M-dog14NCISgeek, XmadlyinloveX, CrazyThought, crescented, Cathy, SamiJaneRen, Guest, Abby and Liv Snigglebottom, theloverofanime, guest, and randomhoosp123 for your lovely and tear-bringing-forth reviews left for the last chapter. And seriously, a huge thanks to those who have ever reviewed, alerted, and favorited this story all together and have stuck with it. None of this would have happened without your support. You guys have really changed my life more than you'll ever realize and I'm really grateful to have had such wonderful readers such as you. Alright, enough of my gushing, here's the epilogue.  
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Epilogue: Three and a Half Years Later

Sleep. A meaningless void of thoughtless dreams and darkness. A place where I sometimes forget that there is no reality. That my nightmares are not real. That I am safe. We are safe. And I pull myself from the terror, half dragging, half carrying my consciousness back to the surface. My eyes open, taking in the dust gathering on the cabinets or the sunlight streaming through the dirty window. My thoughts change. Always. I need to clean. Need to do something. It's then that Haymitch's arm tightens around my waist and my excitement simmers down. Four years, has it really been that long? Four...

"Mama!"

It's a sound that I am so familiar with and yet, sometimes it seems so foreign. My head lifts, the rest of me too tired to do the same. And I see her. She hurries towards me, her head of blonde curls in disarray from the previous night's slumber, but her alertness great. Small lips pulled into a smile, gray eyes wide and bright with anticipation. How. What had I done to deserve her? Neither my life nor Haymitch's were ever innocent. Why, in the end, had we become so fortunate?

"Someone's up early," Haymitch drawls beside me. "Technically you weren't even born til mid-afternoon. Go back to sleep."

"Haymitch," I scold, swatting at him lightly as she clambers onto our bed. "Be kind, it's a big, big day today. Her day."

He groans as the child flings herself onto of him, pretending he is unaware of the importance of today. I smile softly, watching as she giggles, pushing up one of his eyelids when he closes them. He looks back at her, the amusement hard to hide from his features as he wraps his arm around her middle and flips her onto the bed.

"Careful!" I warn, never really a fan of any sort of roughhousing. "She's still a baby, Haymitch."

"I'm not a baby," Olive says in between laughs, trying to push Haymitch's arm off of her. "I'm four!"

"That's right," I nod, inhaling sharply. "That's so very right. How could I forget?"

I'm not sure what's harder: watching her grow up so fast or not being able to stop it. She's safe. We're all safe. It's silly how often I keep having to remind myself of that. No more Hunger Games. No more wars. No one can ever harm her. And yet, as I look on, I can't suppress the fear in my heart. But today is her day. Her birthday. I mustn't dwell on the other events that took place on this anniversary. We can be happy now. Some things are best left forgotten. But doing so is the most difficult part.

"Come now, let's go get you dressed," I finally say to her, slipping my legs out from underneath the covers. "After all, it wouldn't be right to keep your guests waiting."

**xXx**

I watch as she scurries up the path leading to the meadow, her tiny legs cloaked by pants rather than the dress I so desperately tried to coax her into. She holds no similar interests that I held as a child. No fashion. No makeup. If it were up to her, she'd be outside playing all day long in the mud or scraping her knees against the backyard walnut trees as she tries to climb their trunks. I see Haymitch in her. His stubbornness. His expressions. There's no denying that she is her father's child. Sometimes it scares me how much alike they are. And yet, mostly I would not want it any other way.

"You alright?"

It's Haymitch's voice that pulls me from my thoughts. I look to him, noting how he appears to be out of breath from just simply walking the short distance from our house to here. His body is not what it used to be. And the doctors warn that if he continues drinking like he does, there won't be body to worry about. But I don't like to think about that. I don't want to think about that. He's been working on it though. Lessening his intake as the months go on. For Olive's sake. For mine. Yet when night comes, he regrets his decisions and I sometimes find empty bottles shoved up underneath the furniture where he thinks I don't look.

"Of course," I tell him, glancing quickly ahead of us just to make sure that our daughter is still in sight. "Just have a lot on my mind, is all. Not that that is unusual by any means." Suddenly Olive stumbles to the ground but before I can open my mouth, she's back up and running. "Sometimes I cannot help but worry how reckless she is."

"She's a kid, Princess," Haymitch smirks. "They fall down. Break things. Break themselves. Each other. Sort of a requirement of childhood."

"I never conformed to such behavior," the words come out more defensively than I mean them to. "And I don't see any reason why Olive should as well."

"Let her live a little," Haymitch says as we reach the top of the hill. "We can't always be there to protect her."

Haymitch's statement doesn't bring me much comfort as Olive rushes towards the two people waiting in the center of the field. My gaze follows her, reaching the couple before her chubby legs can carry her fast enough to their sides. Katniss and Peeta stand together, a picnic blanket sprawled out behind them decorated with sandwiches and a large, white cake that Peeta made special for today's occasion.

I catch his stare out of the corner of my eye and he offers me a tired smile. Today isn't any easier for him as it is for me. The memories. The incarceration. I needn't be told that he had an episode last night. Dr. Aurelius's medication still courses thickly through his blood stream and I know secretly, he'd rather be asleep than be out here.

"Uncle Peeta!" I hear Olive call out. "Aunt Katniss!"

"Hey Olive," Peeta smiles, kneeling down to catch the girl before she can topple him over. "Happy birthday. Tell me again, how old are you?"

"Guess!" she chants. "Guess! Guess! Guess!"

"Hm..." his lips purse. "Thirty?" She shakes her head. "Well, how about fifteen?" Again her head shakes. "Twenty?"

"Four!" she corrects. "I'm four!"

"Oh, that's right!" Peeta exclaims, acting as if this well known information has just dawned on him. "Four years old. Well, that's a big birthday. Look," he points over to the cake that is situated securely on the blanket. "A big birthday deserves a special cake. Do you like prunes?"

Olive makes a face, shaking her head, "No! Uncle Peeta, that's gross."

"Phew," he replies. "Then it's a good thing I went for buttercream."

It's evident how much Peeta desires a child of his own. The way he interacts with Olive. His eagerness to offer any of the neighborhood children to come to the bakery during the holiday celebrations to decorate dough boys and girls. But Katniss is not so keen on the prospect herself. Married for a little over a year and has yet to even consider the idea despite Peeta's persistence on the subject. Perhaps one day she'll be ready. Haymitch thinks she just needs more time recover. Assimilate to this new life style. I can only hope for the best for them. For all the happiness in the world. After all, they deserve it more than anyone else.

"Married life is looking good on you, Sweetheart," Haymitch mumbles as he takes a seat on the ground. "But I'd lay off the sandwiches and cake today if I were you. Don't want to get too comfortable."

Katniss's eyes flicker over to Haymitch at the jab about her weight, but her expression is neither angry nor humorous. She merely just presses her lips together and joins him on the blanket. By now, Olive has left Peeta's embrace and has taken to romping about in the fields. There's no telling how many stains I will be fighting to remove from the knees of her pants tonight. But every tumble or trip she takes makes me visibly wince and as I open my mouth to call out for her to cease her activities, Haymitch rests his hand on my arm.

"Her birthday," he reminds me. "Turn down your anxiety a few notches and enjoy yourself too."

"If she breaks her arm," I mutter, easing down onto the blanket. "I don't want to hear about. Let it be known that I tried to stop it. I tried-"

"Here," and a sandwich is thrust into my hands. "Try and eat, why don't you. You get a little hyper when you're hungry."

He's right. I do tend to be a little more _alert_ when my blood sugar is low. But Haymitch's deductions don't save him from a glare of disdain as I bite into the turkey and swiss sandwich. The food is delicious. Warming. Decadent. And I'm taking in my third mouthful when Peeta finally joins the three of us.

"Hard to believe she'll start school next fall," Peeta comments, a word of gratitude slipping from his lips as Katniss hands him his own sandwich. "Thought about how you'll both spend your free time when it happens?"

"Sleeping," Haymitch answers before I can. "Kid is up at the crack of dawn. Sometimes even earlier than Effie. Not quite sure how she does it."

Four pairs of eyes turn and fixate on the little girl squatting down in the tall grass. She's playing with something. A bug? Butterfly? Hopefully nothing too sinister. My throat itches, the urge to go over there and check on her growing immensely. But Haymitch is right. It's her birthday and she deserves a day off from me hovering over her. Fingers digging into the skirt of my dress, I turn back to delve into the second half of my sandwich.

"So," I begin, resting the crust of my meal on a napkin. "Hazelle told me you both were planning to go to District Four soon?"

"To visit my mother," Katniss replied. "Not for very long. A week at most. And to see Annie and her son."

"A honeymoon of sorts," Peeta says, pouring himself a glass of water. "Since we never did take one when we got married. Most people don't but with everything being a lot safer than it was, I think it might be...fun."

"What about you?" Katniss suddenly inquires, her eyes locking on Haymitch. "You already have half of the picture perfect family down," she nods towards Olive. "When's the marriage part coming in?"

A sense of uneasiness slips over the air. Silent tension tightening the bonds over unsaid words. I tend to the crumbs that have fallen onto my lap, brushing them off with the back of my hand as my gaze catches a strange look Haymitch is sharing with Peeta. They say nothing, just look at each other as if they both know something that Katniss and I don't. I want to question them. Know what they do. But as my lips part, the words on my tongue, a voice calls out before mine can.

"Mama!"

My head turns to see Olive hurrying towards me with several small dark objects slithering up her arms. Caterpillars, I realize, when she is close enough for me to recognize. She grinning, the hideous little beasts making it appear as if she suffers from some rare skin condition from how they situate themselves on her. She extends her arms, holding them out towards me in earnest.

"Can I keep them?" She asks, trying to catch a loner as it plops down onto the blanket near my feet. "Please?"

"I think we have enough pets at home with your geese, darling," I tell her, trying to nonchalantly flip the bug away as it crawls towards me. "Besides, what if their mother comes looking for them? I'd be sad if someone scooped you up because they wanted you as a pet."

"They don't have a mama," Olive informs me. "I found them all alone in the grass so I caught them!"

There is absolutely no way that I plan to allow her to bring any sort of larva infestation back into our household. The last thing I-or really any member in our family needs-is to open the closet one morning only to find moth holes in every article of clothing we own. My lips press tightly together; my mind working twice as fast as usually in an attempt to figure out a way to bring her down easy.

"They need to be free, Olive," I try to explain. "They wouldn't be happy being locked up in your room. How about you go put them back where you found them and we can have ourselves a nice big slice of that cake Peeta made?"

There's reluctance in her eyes as she gazes down at her new found friends. It's taking all of my willpower not to brush them off of her where she stands. That, of course, would result in tears and possibly flattened caterpillars if I'm not careful with my methods. Instead, a second idea comes to me. Something far more appealing than dead, brushed off bugs and a sorrowful four year old.

"And we can open those presents of yours as well," I say. "So aunt and uncle can see what you got as well."

The hesitation immediately slips from her expression and she's off. Hurrying back towards the grassy plain to release those disgusting things back where they belong. I turn back to my company, watching as Haymitch removes the knife that he so unfortunately often carries around under his belt. He holds it out towards Peeta, motioning for him to take it.

"You'll do the cake slicing honors?"

**xXx**

The daylight is nothing more than a glow of smooth orange sunset when we finally pack up to leave the meadow. Olive hangs partly over Haymitch's shoulder, completely passed out from what we all decided to assume was a successful birthday celebration. Peeta bundles up the remaining slices of cake in parchment paper and hands them to me. Perhaps Haymitch will give them to the geese in the morning if most is left by then.

"Thank you for everything," I tell the children (though quite frankly, they really are adults). "It's nice to be able to do something simplistic. I doubt the parties will be as intimate once she begins making friends her own age. Not that I'm complaining. I always did love parties."

Haymitch mutters something in disagreement, but I am too busy embracing Katniss and Peeta to pay much mind. Promises of gathering again soon are shared, and soon we head our separate ways back to the houses. My eyes fall on Olive, watching as she breathes slowly from Haymitch's shoulder.

"Do you think she had a good day?" I ask, picking stray twigs away that have nestled themselves into her curls. "I really-drat, there goes another one." Frowning, I knock off a caterpillar that begins to make its way out of Olive's pocket. Something, I assume, she sneakily slipped in there when she thought I wouldn't notice. "Nasty things. Remind me to check her clothes when we get home, yes?"

"It's not like they lay eggs or anything at that stage, Princess," he muses, shifting Olive's weight in her arms as we continue on. "And to answer your question, she's four. We could have just as well given her a plain box for her birthday and she would have been over the moon with excitement," he pauses, catching the unamused expression. "Yeah, sure. She had a great time."

"I just want everything to be perfect," I explain, turning down the cobblestone path that leads to our home. "I know it sounds utterly ridiculous, but I just always worry that her life isn't good. That we aren't good parents. That we-"

"Shit!" Haymitch hisses, stopping in his tracks.

I follow his gaze, noting the dark and light leaf-like objects that lie scattered across the ground of the yard. Geese feathers. Haymitch's jaw clenches, a mixture of pain and rage evident in his expression as he maneuvers our daughter into my arms. She makes stirs softly, but her eyes remain closed.

"Something's gotten into the damn coop," he grumbles. "Take her inside. I'll try to figure out how it got in and block off the hole."

I nod, leaving his side to go into the house. Haymitch hasn't really ever had much he cares about. There's Peeta and Katniss. Olive. Liquor. And of course, there are the geese he and Olive came across when she was just around two years old. It has become sort of their thing. Feeding the geese every morning. Tending to them. This year, the flock has grown from the six last year to fourteen. Well, at least there _were_ fourteen.

Olive's room is not too far off from mine and Haymitch's as I make my way up the long flight of steps. Setting the package of sliced dessert by the banister, I carry her in, taking great care not to jostle her as I set her down on her bed. She looks so peaceful, so still, I almost regret attempting to remove her shoes and her jacket so she can be more comfortable. Her lips part, a soft sigh escaping as pull the covers over her small frame.

She's growing so fast. So very fast and I can't stop it. My stomach clenches, a lump forming in my throat at the thought that in just a matter of years, she'll be all grown up. How butterflies can just abandon their little caterpillars, their offspring, is beyond me. I can't even bare to let my own out of my sight. Oh Olive, I only hope she knows how much I truly love her.

"Hey."

The low, quiet greeting catches me off guard and I whip around to see Haymitch standing in the doorway. His pants are caked with mud at the knees as if he's been kneeling hard on the ground. Mouth pressed into a thin line, he steps into the room, the floorboards creaking softly underneath his weight.

"Are the geese alright?" I ask quietly.

"We're down to twelve," he mutters, brushing his hands on his pockets. "Fox or something. Don't know. Found the hole and blocked it so hopefully that'll take care of the issue." His eyes flicker over to Olive. "She's stayed asleep?"

I nod, glancing over at her as well. "Yes," I whisper. "She didn't even wake up when I took her shoes off and tucked her in. Reminds me of you."

The corners of his lips twitch into a smirk. We look at each other, not bothering to utter a single word. Then, with the nod of his head, I follow Haymitch out of the room, gently closing our daughter's door behind us as we leave. Once out of earshot, he turns to me.

"Nice night tonight," he mumbles. "Don't suppose you want to sit out on the balcony and join me for a drink?"

"Maybe just this once," I say, my own lips curling into a smile. "But only one bottle. We can split it." He doesn't look to pleased about the one drink idea I've proposed. "Please, Haymitch. Neither of us should really be drinking anyway."

"Alright," he agrees. "Go wait for me outside and I'll bring everything."

The air is cool when I step out onto the upper deck. With what little sunlight still peaks over the horizon, I find my way to the set of chairs that sit looking out over the property. In the distance, I can make out the tiny houses from the towns further up in Twelve. Since the rebellion, life here has expanded so much. Mining has been brought down to a minimum. No more child labor. No more mass casualties due to mine collapses. It's peaceful. Quiet. And though I sometimes miss the excitement of the city, I wouldn't dream of raising my child anywhere else.

The door opens behind me and I am joined by Haymitch. I take the small glass of amber colored liquid he holds out to me and take a sip. It's bitter, strong, but it warms me nevertheless. Haymitch grunts a little in pain as he sinks down into his chair, slouching back as he raises his own cup to his mouth.

"It seems like only yesterday she was a baby," I say, setting my drink down on the arm of my chair. "And now she's four. Four... I must be getting old. Time seems like it's moving so quickly."

"Least we've still got some years before she's a teenager," he comments. "Doubt that time will feel like it's going fast at all."

"Effie."

The use of my first name catches me off guard and I look to Haymitch. He's playing with the rim of his glass, foot tapping nervously against the boards of the porch. Why does he seem so nervous? What could possibly be on his mind that looks as if it's eating away at him?

"There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about," he continues, not meeting my eyes. "I...You know I'm not good with words. I've never been good with words," he inhales. "And I'm sorry if that has impacted you negatively because I've never meant for it to. You and Olive-"

"I know," I interrupt, resting my hand on his knee. "Haymitch, I know you care about us. I do. It's alright. It's-"

"No," he says quickly. "No. No you don't. Just..." he scratches the back of his head. "Just let me finish. It's hard enough to do this as it is. Not...not hard like that. I mean...I'm not good with words," he finally meets my gaze. "I never told my mother that I loved her or my brother before they...you know... And I regret it. A lot. I don't want it to happen this time." He swallows, foot tapping even more rapidly than before. "I love you."

Of any statement that has ever been uttered to me before, those few words caught me the most off guard. I stare at him, unsure what to say or how to react. In the many years of our relationship, not once has he said something of that magnitude to me. And even so, I've known. He hasn't needed to and yet, my stomach forms knots when he does.

"Oh Haymitch..."

"I'm not done," he says. "And don't look at me like that. It's probably one of the only times I'll say it but I do. I love you and I love Olive and I'm sorry that I struggle so much to say those stupid words. But know that even when I don't, you both are my family and I'd do absolutely anything for you." He exhales, taking a rather large gulp of his liquor. "You should know that it's hard being so damn sentimental when you only give me this much to drink."

We fall silent again, our gazes focused up towards the sky where the stars have just begun to show through. My mouth hurts and I can only guess it's due to the fact I'm smiling so much. Inhaling, I lower my gaze, reaching for my drinking when something else catches me off guard.

"So marry me."

Something shatters near me and I know it's my glass. My breath hitches in my throat, confusion and alarm swarming in my mind as I look to Haymitch wondering if I could have possibly heard him wrong. But he merely just looks back at me, his face void of any emotion.

"That was perfectly good liquor you just-"

"What?" I interrupt. "Did you-"

"Marry me," he repeats. "Do I need to spell it out for you?"

So this why he and Peeta seemed so strange at Katniss's joke about marriage. They knew. Or at least, Peeta must have had some idea this was going to happen. But for how long? Did Katniss know as well? Was that the reason she even brought it up? Questions form a hazy in my mind as I exhale slowly, meeting Haymitch's awaiting gaze.

"Haymitch Abernathy," I exclaim. "You are the most horridly unromantic man I have ever met in all my life."

"Look," he says, slowly rising from his chair. "You don't have to be an ass about it. A simple 'no' would have sufficed. Just forget I said anything. We can go to bed, pretend that this never happened-"

"No," it's my turn to interrupt. "Now let me finish. You are the most manner lacking, unromantic man that I've ever had to deal with," and I inhale. "And I cannot imagine my life with someone who was any other way. So yes. Yes, of course I'll marry you, you incredibly, wonderful brute."

The moon illuminates overhead, marking the end of an era. Four years. No, it's been so much longer than that. An eternity all in itself. I feel Haymitch's hand take mine, the last of the lights fading in the distance. Where has the time gone? Has this moment really come? Yes. Yes, and it's good. It's so, very much welcomed. I breath in deeply, the familiar smell of wood, earth, and pine entering my nasal passages. Olive sleeps inside, unaware of all that has happened. But here we are, alone in such a vast world. The two of us watching the night sky in silence. There is so much to say and yet, there is no need. There has never been a need. Haymitch squeezes my hand and I return the gesture.

All is finally right.

_The End_

**So for months I've been thinking and thinking how I would finally say my goodbye to all of you lovely readers. But now that the time has come, I am at a loss for words. Thank you. Just thank you for everything you all have done for me. This story has really changed my life in more ways than you'll ever know. Each one of you is so truly amazing and know that you people mean so much to me. Thank you for sticking with me until the end. It would never have come without your help. Thank you for bringing Olive to life and any bit of this story as well. To my friends who are not readers but nevertheless stayed up into the wee hours of the morning listening to me panic about how I wasn't sure if this writing was good enough. Thank you. All of you. For everything. **

**As for a sequel, I have decided against doing something official. However, on my FFN profile page, I have a story called "Of Aprons, Geese, and Little Feet". Basically, it's a continuation of sorts of this story. Except, it's drabbles and one shots. How it works is that if there is a plot you'd like to see involving Olive, Effie, and Haymitch (AU or not) you send it in and I write a mini story about it. For those who follow me on tumblr, you're already well aware of this and I still have about forty prompts I owe you that are sitting in my inbox. But I swear I'll get to those. Also, I have a story called "The Indigo Summer" I'd really appreciate you checking out if you like my writing. It's Hayffie and it is another family story (except it's an AU where Haymitch is the single father to a six year old Katniss Everdeen and Effie is her teacher). So if you have a chance, please check it out!**

**Alright, final time I'll ask this. Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated. Now that the story is finally over, I'd really love for you, the readers, to leave a review. This story has had so many followers and even if you've never reviewed before, please consider taking a moment of your time now. It would mean the world to me and I'd love to know your final thoughts. Thank you so, so very much again. I hope to see all of your wonderful usernames soon as I continue to write. With much love to each and every one of you. -Jen**


	45. Alternate Chapter: The Birth of Olive

**So a lot of people have been asking about this and after a lot of research, I finally decided to do this. This is an alternative chapter to chapter thirty one, "A Brighter Dawn". Basically, this is if Effie had a natural birth instead of a cesarean section. I have had a few ideas for "lost chapters" but this one has stuck with me the most. I hope you'll enjoy. Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated. -Jen (Also I accidentally wrote this in the third person. Sorry about that. And, self promoting here, but if you like True Blood and PamxEric, I just started a Paric baby story called "When the Bough Breaks" so feel free to check that out!)**

Alternative chapter: Olive's Birth

The pain. It was as if my body was an inferno from with. Organs twisting, muscle contracting, every fiber of my being screaming in agony. I gritted my teeth together, a low sound of anguish escaping from between my dry lips as someone touched me. I didn't care who it was at this point. President Snow. A guard. Someone who wanted to hurt me. I was already dying, my body feeling as if it were splitting a part. And my baby. My poor, sweet, innocent child. Why wasn't she moving?

"I need three Ccs of morphling," a voice said over head. "Someone get an IV in her arm!"

My vision was blurry, my throat still burning from whatever caused the explosion. I didn't even feel when the needle pierced my arm or if it even did for that matter, my lower half was contorting from the inside. The air from my lungs being sucked out with every jolt of pain. Contractions. Merciless. Resilient. Time was lost to me. I just wanted to die. Why couldn't they allow me this last luxury?

"No," I whimpered, not even sure if I managed to swat at whoever was moving my legs. "Please...I don't want..."

"Ms. Trinket," another voice said, this tone far kinder than any I had heard for the last several weeks. "We are here to help you. My name is Carmilla, I'm a medical technician. We're going to get your baby out, yes? I need you to stay with me?" And then to someone else. "Ten centimeters dilated, I need scissors and a bassinet now!"

It was so hot. Burning. I wanted to cry out. Scream. No matter how weak or how immature that might have been. But I couldn't. Only the tiniest moans escaping from me as something from within pressed heavily against my pelvic region. Splitting me. Tearing me. For the love of Panem, I am on fire. Just let me die. I don't care anymore. Just let me die!

"My baby..." I tried to explain, my vision slowly starting to focus, only to be greeted by the glare of a bright light. "I can't feel her...I can't...she's gone..."

"Heart rate is decreasing," someone called out. "Patient is going into shock."

Their voices were so calm, so clinical. If they were trying not to bring any more fear to me than I already had however, it was not working. My chest ached, the pain growing worse with each small breath I took. And with the burning pressure from below, I was almost certain my end was drawing near. My baby was gone. I knew she was-I remember reading that a mother could tell these things. And I, as cowardly as it was, did not wish to see her small lifeless body pulled from me. Oh please, just allow me the liberty to die...

"Dammit!" There was a loud crash, the shuffling of feet. "Get the hell out of my way! I don't care if this is a sterile area! I want to see her!"

There was something familiar about that voice. The roughness of it. The accent. Haymitch? I attempted to lift my head, the motion causing a wave of nausea to bubble in the pit of my stomach. In what appeared to be the door frame, a figure-much scruffier and thinner than I remembered-struggled to get past a few figures in thick, dark gray suits. Our eyes locked, the feeling of pain replaced briefly by shock. Haymitch.

"Out of my way," he barked, nudging aside the woman I assumed to be Carmilla. "I have clearance to all areas. I don't give a damn what Coin told you, she's having my kid." Another jolt of pain took me, my mind growing too hazy to understand what he said next. But when I regain what little energy I had left a moment later, he was by my side. I met his eyes again, his expression undescribable. Perhaps it was pained or worried or enraged. I don't know.

"Hurts," I breathed, gripping onto his hand when he offered it. I was too forgone to have any questions for him at this point. "Haymitch-it hurts!"

"I know, Princess," he mumbled. "I know. But you have to hold on for her. She needs you right now, alright? We'll get through this."

"The baby,"I tried to explain when another contraction shot through me. This time I managed to scream.

"The baby is beginning to crown," Carmilla said, moving between my legs. "Ms. Trinket, when you have another contraction, I need you to bear down. Mr. Abernathy, if you could move behind her, act as a support...it would help."

"No," I whispered hoarsely, gripping Haymitch's hand tighter when he attempted to move. "No, no don't leave."

Haymitch's fingers gently tightened around my own, his eyes much softer than I had ever seen them before. "I'll be right behind you," he promised. "I'm not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever again."

When the contraction came, I pushed just as was asked of me. Chin tucked to my chest, fingers digging into the fabric of the gurney, I bore down for what felt like an eternity. "Good," someone coached. "Very good, Ms. Trinket, she's moving down." I rested against Haymitch, sweat trickling down my temples. Disgusting. Embarrassing. That was, it would if I cared at this point. "Another big push for us now."

I shook my head, too exhausted to even cry. "Haymitch," I said weakly. "Haymitch, I can't..."

"You can," he said firmly, the lack of sympathy in his voice surprisingly causing me some annoyance. "The Effie Trinket I know wouldn't just give up. Not even if there wasn't a damn hope left. Not after all of our tributes were slaughtered! She'd keep going. _You_ can keep going."

But I wasn't the Effie Trinket he once knew. I had changed. We all had. But when I wanted to explain this to him, the contraction came and my body betrayed me. I pushed, sorrow filling me I as slowly felt her body slip from me. I knew she was dead. She couldn't possibly be alive. Why did I have to deliver my dead child? "Good," I heard Haymitch murmured, his hands pressed to my soldiers. "Keep going, Princess." But I didn't want to. I wanted this to stop. I wanted all of this to-

All at once, the pressure left me, a final gasp of air escaping from my mouth as something slipped from me. And then, after the longest moment of silence, a shrill cry erupted from the air. Haymitch and I both watched in awe as Carmilla held a very pink, very annoyed, very much alive infant in her arms. Her hair was dark, matted with blood and white vernix to her large, squished head. Her skin wrinkled from the many months of her soak. Someone was laughing and, after a moment, I realized it was me. She was okay. She was alive.

"It's a girl," Carmilla breathed, her smile tired as she rested her on my chest. "A very healthy, beautiful little girl."

I looked down at her as her large, blue eyes stared up at me unfocused. I could feel Haymitch's grip on my shoulders slacken as he moved to my side to get a closer look. Hesitantly, he reached out with his index finger, the infant grasping it at once. I could have sworn I heard him chuckle a little pridefully at this.

"Does she have a name?"

"Hm?" I questioned, looking up in surprise at the nurse.

"The baby," she repeated. "What are you going to name her."

A memory. Something...fuzzy from long ago. Or perhaps it was much sooner than I thought. But it ached in the back of my mind, begging to be released. I looked to Haymitch who already seemed to know what I wanted to say. He nodded, finger still held in the tiny infant's grasp. I too looked down at her, marveling at the perfect little being who had been through so much and yet made it. The reason that I knew we would all now make it.

"Olive," I whispered. "Her name is Olive."


End file.
